


Adrien Can('t) Bake

by verfound



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Blame Hawkdaddy's Tweets, F/M, Goofball Trash, Identity Reveal, cookies are involved, this was supposed to be a one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfound/pseuds/verfound
Summary: When their class is assigned an informative speech, Adrien is inadvertently sent down the path to discovering his Lady’s identity – and, consequently, how to bake cookies.





	1. Prologue: In Which Nino Deserves a Medal

**Author's Note:**

> Post-S1 but pre-reveal/S2 (still in tenth grade, at least). Nino and Alya are gems that are starting to date by this point. So there was a tweet where someone asked Astruc if Adrien would ever get the cookies (“Gamer”), and he replied that not only will Adrien get the cookies but he’ll also learn to make them. And while he might be entirely genuine here, I come from Camp Whedon – and Whedon would totally troll like this. In fact, I’m fairly certain he has. Also: asdfg this was only supposed to be a silly, fluff-filled one-shot. What the ever-loving hell. This is pure goofball trash.

There were times that Nino Lahiffe was fairly certain he should be well compensated for being best friends with one Adrien Agreste.  This was one of them.

 

The blonde-haired model had been ranting for fifteen minutes, ever since class had let out.  He was working himself up into a positive tizzy, and it was all over the stupidest freakin’ thing.  Nino had accepted ages ago that his best friend was a socially awkward, emotionally stunted (oblivious) shut-in who Had Issues – that was all but promised when your father was Gabriel Agreste and the first time you really became involved in a typical social setting was the beginning of the school year.  He would have understood if his best bro had been ranting about something normal, like – God forbid – a certain blue-eyed girl or something (either because Chloé was annoying him again or Marinette still couldn’t really form sentences around him – Nino wasn’t really picky by this point).

 

But this?  This was just ridiculous.

 

“Dude, chill!” Nino finally snapped, grabbing onto Adrien’s shoulders and shaking.  Adrien’s mouth snapped shut with an audible _clack_ of his perfectly sculpted teeth.  “It’s just an informative speech – no one said anything about it having to be a talent!  You just have to tell us how to do something, man!”

 

“But that’s just it!” the blonde heartthrob cried.  He grabbed Nino’s shoulders in turn, leaning closer with desperation in his eyes.  “Nino… _I don’t know how to do anything!_ ”

 

God bless him, Nino’s only reaction was a twitching eye.  A lesser man probably would have slapped the blonde.

 

“Then just tell us about something, geeze!” he shouted.  “And what do you mean, you don’t know how to do anything?  Dude, what about all your extra-curriculars?  Like…I dunno, teach us some Chinese.  Show us how to fence.  You know karate, right?  Show us some defensive moves – it’s not like we don’t need ‘em in this city.  Like just do _something_ , man!”

 

“I…” when Adrien’s voice trailed off, his eyes widening in horrified realization, Nino decided that his best friend was, without any shadow of a doubt, an Idiot.

 

“Look, Mademoiselle Bustier gave us an entire week to get the presentation together – and it only has to be five minutes!” Nino groaned.  He grabbed Adrien’s shoulder and pointed across the courtyard, where Nathaniel was sitting nose-deep in his sketchbook.  “I heard Nathaniel say he was thinking about telling us how to draw something.”

 

“Which is a talent he has,” Adrien pointed out, and Nino rolled his eyes so hard they actually stung.  He turned Adrien again, a little rougher this time, and pointed to where Rose was giggling over something with Juleka.

 

“Rose was going on to Alya about how she’s going to tell us about the language of flowers!” he cried.  When Adrien continued to stare at him like he Didn’t Have a Freakin’ Clue, he groaned and slapped a hand down his face.  “Look, dude, you’ve got a week.  Actually, a little longer – aren’t you going next Tuesday?  You’ll be fine.”

 

“Adrien!”

 

They looked up to see Nathalie standing by the gates, waving the model over.  Nino saw him wince again.

 

“I forgot about the shoot…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.  Nino clapped a hand against his shoulder and chuckled.

 

“Hey, if you’re so hell-bent on showing us a _talent_ , you could always show us how to strike that perfect Teen Heartthrob pose!” he laughed.  He was joking, of course, but the bewildered look Adrien gave him was too tempting to pass up.  “Though on second thought, you’d probably cause Mari to have a meltdown if she was in direct line of your Smolder.”

 

From the way his face scrunched up, Nino could tell his best friend was still Totally Clueless (which meant, unfortunately, he owed Alya a coffee).

 

“What are you even talking about, Nino?” the blonde sighed.  “Besides, modelling isn’t a talent – it’s…work.  And why would Marinette care about my smolder?  I don’t even have a smolder!”

 

Nino chuckled again as he patted his shoulder on their way to the car.  He shook his head and said, “Oh, trust me, Agreste: you have a Smolder.”

 

As he waved a still-panicking Adrien off, Nino couldn’t help but think the next week was going to be _fun_.


	2. In Which There are Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During my freshman comms class, one of the guys had worked as a camp maintenance man for a few summers. His informative speech told us the Proper Methods of Plunging Toilets. To this day it remains one of my favorite class presentations.

On Monday, Mademoiselle Bustier assigned their language arts class an informative speech assignment.  They were each to do a five-minute presentation informing the class about something: a topic that interested them, a talent, a skill, or even a book they loved.  Mademoiselle Bustier had been gracious in her instructions and said they could do practically _anything_ – from Alya telling the class how to conduct a proper interview to Kim showing them the best stretches to make sure your body was prepared for a workout.  According to Nino,  Rose was going to tell them about the _language of flowers_.  Max had said he was going to give some tricks to achieving high scores in the new Mecha Strike expansion.  And despite the almost overwhelming depth of potential subject matter, one Adrien Agreste found himself having _no freakin’ idea_ as to what his presentation should be on.  He had assumed the subject should be a talent of some sort, and while Nino had assured him time and again that was not the case at all, he argued that everyone else – even Rose, who’s hobbies included making perfumes and thus had a large base of flower-related knowledge – was doing something on a talent, so it was only fair that he did, too.  The presentations were set up over a few days: beginning Friday, at the end of the week, and wrapping up the following Wednesday.  He was slotted to go Tuesday.

 

It was Friday.

 

And he had no idea what the heck he was going to talk about.

 

He was trying not to freak out too bad, as Nino had promised to come over that weekend and help him bang out the assignment, but he had still had an entire week to think of something with absolutely no success.

 

(To be fair, it wasn’t _entirely_ his fault.  Hawk Moth had been especially busy that week, and most of the precious free time he had had been spent chasing down akumatized victims.  There had been three already by the time Thursday night rolled around – he was being stretched a bit thin.  In a fit of desperation the night before, he had complained to Plagg that it was a shame he couldn’t do his presentation on how to be a Teenaged Superhero/Savior of Paris.  He’d have that one in the bag.)

 

“Dude, _chill_ ,” Nino hissed as he dropped his head against the desk.  He heard snickering behind them, and he cracked open an eye to glare at Alya.  She had the nerve to sit there, a smug little smirk on her face, and wave her fingers at him.  Of course _she_ wasn’t panicking – she already had a topic, and even worse she wasn’t going until the final day.

 

“Still clueless?” she asked.  She sounded entirely too smug for his comfort.

 

“Alya, give the guy a break,” Nino sighed, turning towards her.  “He’s been really busy this week.  Besides, he has the whole weekend to figure something out.  He’s got time.”

 

“Mhm,” Alya hummed.  There was something about the looks she was shooting Nino, and the looks he was shooting back, and her overall satisfaction in his predicament that made Adrien wonder if they were still talking about the assignment.  He sat up and turned towards her, mouth opening to ask just what she was trying to say this time, when an absolutely divine aroma brought his cognitive processes to a screeching halt.

 

“Girl, you just made it!” Alya cheered, her attention momentarily as distracted as Adrien’s own.  He looked up to see Marinette skidding into her seat – actually early for once – before placing a box from her family’s bakery on the desk between them.  A box that smelled like heaven.  A box that he desperately wanted inside.

 

“…ok, Adrien?”

 

He jumped and glanced up from the box to find all three of his friends were staring at him.  Alya’s smirk was back, and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear she was trying not to laugh at him.  Nino at least looked a bit sympathetic.  Marinette…ah.  Crap.

 

Her face was red, and her eyes were wide – she looked like she wanted to bolt again.  He offered her a smile, hoping he didn’t look _too_ embarrassed at having been caught practically salivating over the bakery box, and she bit her lip so hard it blanched before looking down to her lap.  Crap.

 

They had made a lot of progress over the course of the school year.  While she still wasn’t as open around him as she was her other friends – her closer friends – he liked to think they had reached that point where she would call herself his friend.  He certainly considered her one, a least.  And after the Mecha Strike tournament, he had even dared hope she might be open to hanging out sometime.  Thanks to Nino and Alya’s budding relationship, they had also been forced to interact more – but she still seemed…not hostile, per se.  Closed off?  Unreceptive?  He would almost say he made her nervous, but he didn’t understand how.  It wasn’t like he was an intimidating person or anything – in fact, he could practically be described as harmless as a kitten!

 

“Adrien!” Alya called again, and he jumped as he realized he had zoned out again.  Alya was shaking her head, opening laughing at him, and he winced as Nino’s hand clapped down on his shoulder.

 

“Dude, you need to relax,” he sighed.  “You are so out of it this morning.”

 

“S-sorry,” he mumbled.  His cheeks felt warmer than they should.  “Just…didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

 

“I was asking if you were ok, but I guess we know the answer to that now,” Alya said, still snickering.  He shot her a look that she blatantly ignored, and he turned back to Marinette.

 

“So what’s in the box?” he asked, offering her his friendliest smile.  She glanced up, her lips curling up just slightly as she met his eyes.

 

“I-it’s for my presentation,” she said.

 

“Mari’s gonna teach us how to make cookies,” Alya said, grinning as she pounced on her friend.  Her arms wrapped around the girl’s shoulders in a tight hug that had her squeaking in shock.  “And she even brought a visual aide!”

 

“I still say it’s bribery,” Nino said, shaking his head.  Adrien lifted an eyebrow at him.  “No way you’re not passing if you brought everyone cookies.”

 

Wait – cookies?  Marinette had baked cookies for everyone?

 

He glanced back at the box before looking up at Marinette with a hopeful smile.  He remembered that tray of cookies her parents had tried to give them when he had gone over to her house to practice for the tournament.  They had looked – and smelled – amazing, but Marinette had been so focused on the game she hadn’t let her parents leave them any snacks – until he had stepped in with the pie, which still ranked as the Best Dang Pie he’d ever had.  Still, a pie wasn’t cookies – and he _loved_ cookies.  And if the Dupain-Cheng’s pies were out of this world, he could only imagine what their cookies were like.

 

“You made us cookies?” he asked, but she only laughed – a slightly maniacal lilt to it, he was disheartened to note – when she looked back to him.

 

“I-it’s no big deal,” she said.  She was tugging on the end of a pigtail, her eyes darting back to her lap.  “I mean, I just figured…well, everyone’s probably expecting me to do something about fashion, and everyone likes cookies, right?”

 

“I love cookies,” he said quickly, and she paused only a moment before smiling at him.  He was thankful to see she looked calmer with his comment.

 

“Then you’ll _love_ Mari’s speech,” Alya said, patting the top of the bakery box, though the comment and how she nudged Marinette seemed to just make the poor girl go red again.

 

Still, Alya was right: he _did_ love Marinette’s speech.

 

She seemed to have overcome her nervousness once she was set up, the bakery box on one end of Mademoiselle Bustier’s desk and a glass bowl, hand mixer, and containers of ingredients on the other.  She waited patiently as the class settled and their instructor gave her the go-ahead, and her eyes landed on him briefly as she surveyed the room.  He gave her his best _You Can Do It!_ smile.  She gave him the smallest smile in return before turning to address the entire class, a more confident beam immediately taking its place.

 

“It shouldn’t surprise anyone that I’ve been baking pretty much my entire life,” she said, grinning at them all.  “As you all know, my parents own a bakery, and the first time I really remember making cookies I think I was three.  I’ve learned to bake a lot more since then, but cookies are still one of my favorite things to make, so I thought I’d show everyone how to make a classic: chocolate chip cookies.”

 

Adrien found himself leaning forward, a warm smile curling his lips as she walked them through the process.  She wasn’t going to make a large batch, for time’s sake, so she started by telling them her measurements were going to be less than what a typical recipe would require – but, to be thorough, she was still telling them how much of everything she was using.  Nino had been entirely too amused at this, as Adrien had immediately grabbed his pen and begun taking notes.  He was impressed at how quickly she assembled the dough: she somehow managed to get everything in in the allotted five minutes, though he knew if he had tried on his own it would have taken forever.  Still, in seemingly no time at all, she was scooping the cookies onto a pan and telling them how long to bake them, what temperature to use, and how to know if they were done.

 

It all seemed so simple, and he couldn’t help but wonder: how had he never made cookies before?

 

“Dude, you look like she’s explaining the secrets of the universe,” Nino hissed at him, the words nearly lost amid his snickers.  Adrien shot him a glare and hushed him, his focus immediately back on Marinette.  For whatever reason, this only seemed to make Nino – and Alya, he was annoyed to notice – laugh harder.  Marinette seemed to notice their friends’ reactions as well, and it was the only time in her presentation she seemed to falter.  She recovered quickly, however, hiding the hesitance by moving the pan with the dough to grab the pastry box.  He grinned at her, proud of her easy recovery, even as he jabbed his elbow into Nino’s side.

 

She was amazing, as always.

 

“Now, obviously, I can’t actually bake these for you,” she continued.  She shrugged and grinned, the look a little sheepish.  “No oven in the classroom.”

 

A few chuckles came from the class, as expected, and she held up the box.

 

“But I did bring some in, since it’s not really fair to spend all this time talking about cookies and not giving you all any,” she said, and excited whispers broke out at the news.  She looked to their teacher, who nodded at her.

 

“Thank you, Marinette,” Mademoiselle Bustier said as the bell sounded for break.  She looked back to the class as the excited chattering continued, louder now that they were met with freedom from the classroom.  “If you want to leave them on the desk, everyone can grab a cookie on the way out.  Enjoy your lunches!”

 

The only thing keeping him from leaping over the desk and over to Marinette was Nino’s hand on his arm.  And by _hand_ he meant _Death-Like Grip Really Nino What Is Your Problem I Really Want A Cookie!_   He glared at the deejay as he packed up his bag, but Nino paid him no mind as he turned to speak with Alya.  Still, the hand remained in place, sufficiently holding him to his seat.

 

When Nino _finally_ let him approach Marinette, the rest of the class had filtered out.  Nino and Alya hung back, laughing to themselves about something as he zipped over to Mademoiselle Bustier’s desk.

 

“Hey, Marinette!” he chirped, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.  She jumped and turned towards him, nearly dropping her hand mixer in the process.  He winced and held up a hand.  “Sorry.”

 

“N-no, it’s ok!  Um…did you want a cookie?” she asked, and he nodded.  Maybe a bit too enthusiastically.

 

“Oh, yeah!  Definitely!” he said.  He even went as far as to wink at her, channeling a bit of his inner Chat.  “I told you: I _love_ cookies.”

 

Nino and Alya’s laughing only got louder at that for some reason.  Marinette’s face almost turned as red as his Lady as she held out the box for him.

 

“Well, I hope these like you, then,” she said.  He glanced up at her as he went for a cookie, smiling slightly at her slip, and she jumped as her face turned redder.  “I-I mean, these hope you like I!  I hope you like these!”

 

Alya sounded like she was dying behind him.

 

“Wow, these are amazing, Marinette!” he cried after taking a bite.  He was blatantly ignoring the cackling couple.  “I shouldn’t be surprised, though.  Everything you do is amazing.”

 

“Oh, not everything,” she laughed.  She looked back to the box she was packing up, reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear.

 

“No, I mean it,” he said earnestly.  “Your presentation was really good, too.  It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but would you believe I’ve never actually been in a kitchen?”

 

Her eyes snapped back to him, disbelief written clear on her face, and he chuckled slightly as he took another bite of the wonderful cookie in his hand.

 

“I mean, I’ve been _in_ a kitchen,” he clarified, thinking of the Le Grand Paris and the freezer DJ Wifi had once locked him inside, “but I’ve never had to use one.  Actually, maybe it’s not that surprising.  I just…never had a reason to need to.”

 

“That’s…Adrien…” she said, and he almost winced as he heard the unmistakable pity in her voice.  That hadn’t been his intention at all…

 

“But, y’know, your speech really inspired me!  I might have to try my hand at baking when I get home!” he said quickly, and he was pleased to be rewarded with a kinder smile.  “…if I can find the kitchen, that is.”

 

“ _You were so freakin’ close…!_ ” he heard Nino hiss behind him, almost inaudible under Alya’s renewed guffaws.  She wasn’t even trying to hide her laughter anymore.

 

“I...I’m sure you’ll have no problem,” Marinette said after shooting her friend a stern look, and he laughed slightly as he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.  She held up the box again.  “There’s extra, if you’d like…”

 

“Wow, thanks!” he said as he took another one, grinning at her before biting into it.  “These are seriously the best, Marinette.  Thank you.”

 

“All right, come on – I’m starving!” Nino whined as he pushed at his back.  He stumbled forward, cookie still hanging from his mouth, and turned to glare at Nino.  His friend just snatched his own cookie and winked at Marinette.  “Thanks, Mari.  Great job today.”

 

“You, too,” she said with an easy laugh, and Adrien sighed as Nino drug him from the classroom.  He barely heard Alya cackle something about _socially awkward dorkmuffin babies_ before Marinette screeched – though Nino refused to let him go back to their friends as he asked if he wanted to join him at a nearby café that apparently had _the best sandwiches ever_.  He sighed, took the final bite of what was possibly the best cookie ever, and followed his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is actually completed already (along with a two-part sequel), and I planned on sticking with updating on Thursdays/Fridays, depending when my day off fell. After the Day From Hell work just was, though, I figured a prologue isn’t a full update and y’all deserve the first chapter, too.


	3. In Which Adrien has Performance Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My informative speech wasn’t on baking, though hindsight it should have been. To be fair, during my final speech (an “impromptu” speech that had to be two minutes and we had like thirty seconds to prep for), I had to choose whether hot chocolate or eggnog was the better holiday drink. I went with eggnog, and the justification was an eggnog cream cookie cup I had made the previous Christmas. Unfortunately, there were no samples.

Alya was in heaven.  Whether this statement was metaphorical or she had actually died and gone there she wasn’t entirely certain yet, but the fact remained that she was on Cloud Nine.

 

It had started when her boyfriend of two months had arrived at school toting her favorite blended, caramelized coffee drink – an open admission of defeat in their most recent bet, which he had been fighting against since he first began to suspect he would lose during the beginning of the week.  (She had known he would lose as soon as the bet was made, which may or may not have been cheating.  But, considering the bet involved their two darling, infuriatingly oblivious friends, it really was his own fault for taking her on in the first place.)  Sufficiently caffeinated, she had been more than happy to sit behind him as one of the parties in question – teenage supermodel Adrien Agreste, best friend of one Nino Lahiffe and future husband of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng (though, as the coffee energizing her system proved, he was still blissfully unaware of this fact) – continued to stress over his lack of a topic for the class presentations.  She loved Adrien to death, both as her boyfriend’s best friend and a friend of her own, but she couldn’t help but be amused at his panic.  As Nino continued to point out to him, the assignment wasn’t really that difficult, and he really didn’t need to be making such a big deal about it.  But it was Adrien, and Adrien was aggravatingly thick at times, and if he was going to insist on being a Moron then she was going to insist on enjoying every last minute of it.

 

Her mood had only improved when Marinette had arrived early (for once), bringing with her a box that had her supplies for the presentation and a smaller, light green box of what she knew to be fresh-baked cookies from her parents’ bakery.  She had known Marinette would be baking for her assignment since Monday – she was actually the one who had suggested it, if for no other reason than the look of pure longing Adrien was currently giving the box (and by association Marinette).  Of course, Marinette had instantly shied under the onslaught of attention from her long-time crush, and Adrien was just as blind to it as ever, but if anything that only made things better for Alya.  While she couldn’t wait for the day they stopped dancing around each other and just hooked up already, the yenta side of her was enjoying their little awkward tango entirely too much.

 

…eh.  Tango wasn’t quite the right term.  Given the couple in question, it was more like a cha-cha.  Or a two-step.  Or really just a Very Very Awkward Shuffle.

 

But she was patient, and she could wait it out.  She was positive she would be rewarded for her efforts one of these days, and she was definitely collecting on part of that reward today.

 

Her smile was practically splitting her face as she watched Adrien collect his cookie(s – he had managed to snag _two!_ ) from Marinette.  As if Adrien constantly telling Marinette how much he _loved cookies_ wasn’t good enough, Marinette had actually mixed up her words enough to tell him she hoped the cookies liked him, too.  She could only imagine how bad their flirting would get once they were together and could manage to do it properly.  Even worse, Adrien had almost been home free, a thousand unwitting compliments lavished on his future wife, when he had managed to let slip the fact that he had never used a kitchen before.  As much as Alya wanted to feel bad for him, the absurdity of it all had been too much – though the Poor Entitled Rich Kid sob story had been what landed him that second cookie.  Her sides were killing her as Nino ushered Adrien out of the classroom, shooting a sympathetic look at the red-faced Marinette, and off towards lunch.  Alya sighed, taking in a deep breath as she leaned against Mademoiselle Bustier’s desk.

 

“Girl,” she said, laughter in her voice as she wiped away a tear and looked at her bestie, “you two are going to have the most adorable, socially awkward dorkmuffin babies someday.”

 

“ _Alya!_ ” Marinette shrieked, dropping the glass bowl she had used to mix her batter.  Alya winced as it bounced off the desk and headed towards the floor, but the wince quickly turned into a whistle as Marinette shot out an arm and grabbed it.

 

“Nice reflexes,” she mused, impressed.  Marinette rolled her eyes as she put the bowl back in the box, huffing as she quickly packed her supplies.  “So that went well.”

 

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed.  She grabbed the box and led them from the room.  They had already agreed they would have lunch at Marinette’s, as she wanted to drop off her box before the rest of the day.  “I wasn’t too worried about it, though.  I’ve been baking forever, so I was pretty sure I could get a dozen scooped in the time limit.”

 

“That’s not what I was talking about, and you know it,” Alya chided, poking her in the side.  Marinette’s cheeks, predictably, turned a lovely shade of pink.

 

“O-oh, well…” Marinette mumbled.  She bit her lip and looked down, and Alya laughed again as she caught the girl before she tripped down the steps of the school.  Nino looked back at her before turning the corner with Adrien, and she tossed him a wink.  He shook his head before they disappeared, and Alya smirked as she looped her arm through Marinette’s and led the girl down the steps.

 

“I’ll bet you anything Adrien actually tries to bake now,” she said as they started towards the Dupain-Cheng bakery.  “I would pay good money to see that.  It would be a _disaster_.”

 

“Alya, that’s so mean!” Marinette cried.  She adjusted her grip on the box to hide her nervous fidgeting.  “Adrien’s so great at everything he does.  I’m sure he’d have no trouble baking.”

 

“…even if he’s never been in a kitchen before?” Alya wheedled, a grin curling her lips.  Marinette bit her lip to hide her own smile, but Alya knew better.  Marinette found his antics hilarious, too, and it was only her chronic crush keeping her from snickering about it as well.

 

“Well, Mademoiselle Sancoeur seems very nice,” she finally said as they reached the bakery.  Alya held open the door, lifting an eyebrow as Marinette walked through.  “I’m sure she’d be willing to at least help him _find_ the kitchen.”

 

Oh, yeah.  Cloud Freakin’ Nine.

 

The day only got better from there.  A great lunch (Sabine was an excellent cook, on par with her own professional chef mother) was followed by an akuma-free afternoon, and once classes were done they had the weekend to look forward to.  It didn’t hurt that Nino was supposed to be joining her for a movie that night.  Alya didn’t think her day could get any better until they left the school building for the second time that day and found Nino and Adrien talking by the steps.  From the looks of it. Adrien was still stressing over his upcoming presentation.  Alya grinned at Marinette, nudging her side, before she unhooked their arms and ran over to Nino.  She offered up a brief wave before wrapping her arms around Nino’s waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek.  Adrien took it all in stride, having long since gotten used to her exuberance and honestly happy for his friends, and greeted Marinette as she arrived beside him.

 

“What time’s the movie again, babe?” Nino asked, pulling out his phone.

 

“Seven,” she answered, and he nodded as he put his phone away and looked back to Adrien.

 

“So I could probably come over for an hour or two tonight,” he said, “or just come over tomorrow.  It really shouldn’t take that long to get something done between the two of us, and you said you’re free all day tomorrow, right?”

 

“I think we’ve established that I could use all the help I can get by this point,” Adrien said, rolling his eyes.  Alya lifted an eyebrow and shared a look with Marinette.  “But I can’t do tonight.  I still have fencing, and I have an evening shoot scheduled, too.  I probably won’t be home before your date.”

 

“So tomorrow,” Nino said, and Adrien nodded.

 

“Unfortunately.  I’ll try to brainstorm something tonight, but so far every idea I’ve had has been horrible,” he said.

 

“I keep telling you it doesn’t have to be _good_ ,” Nino groused.  “It just has to be _something_.”

 

“What’s going on?” Marinette asked.  She was frowning at the both of them, and Alya couldn’t help but smirk.  She had forgotten Marinette hadn’t been privy to Nino’s bemoaning Adrien’s idiocy over the assignment all week.  Adrien looked at her, suddenly sheepish as he ducked his head.  He looked like he was trying to shrink into the wall he was sitting on.

 

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, kicking his heels against the wall.  “It’s dumb.”

 

“Adrien’s behind on the project,” Nino deadpanned.  Adrien shot him a glare, but her boyfriend was past caring by this point.  “He can’t decide what to do his speech on, and he’s been freaking out about it all week.  Being the wonderful bro I am, I offered to help him out this weekend.”

 

“You still don’t have a topic?” Marinette asked, surprised.  “But aren’t you supposed to present on Tuesday?”

 

“It’s been a busy week,” Adrien mumbled, looking up at her.  “And, like I keep telling Nino, it’s not like I actually have a talent to start with.  I just…everything I think of seems so lame.”

 

“You have plenty of talent!” Marinette said.  Alya’s eyebrows soared as her friend reached out and placed a hand over Adrien’s own.  She shot a look to Nino, whose eyes were locked on their friends’ joined hands.  “Don’t be ridiculous!  Besides, it’s just an informative speech – it’s not like you _have_ to present on a talent.”

 

“That’s easy for you to say, Marinette.  You’re super talented at everything, and look at your presentation!  You’re so good at baking, and your speech was awesome,” Adrien sighed, reaching up with his free hand to rub at the back of his neck.  “Mine’s going to be so lame in comparison.”

 

“Adrien, come on,” Marinette sighed.  She took a step closer to him and lifted the hand she’d been touching, holding it in both of her own.  “Just find something you’re interested in and tell us about it.  You said you have fencing today – you could always tell us something about that.  Or one of your other extra-curriculars!  You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

 

Alya felt it was important to note that, from the moment Marinette had picked up his hand, Adrien’s eyes had widened and remained locked on their joined hands.  She felt it even more important to note that his cheeks had stained a light pink – Adrien Agreste was actually _blushing_.  Her fingers itched, her inner reporter and fangirl demanding to record the moment, but she knew any sudden moves would break the spell.  _Marinette Dupain-Cheng was speaking coherently to Adrien Agreste.  Marinette Dupain-Cheng was touching Adrien Agreste and not having a complete meltdown.  And Adrien Agreste was actually blushing because of it all._   She was so proud of her baby girl!

 

Adrien, poor boy, looked completely dazed.  Marinette somehow managed to keep her cool, though, and stood there with a brilliant smile on her face.  After a moment, Adrien blinked and returned the smile.  He curled his fingers around her hand, bringing his other hand up to rest against the back of hers – and Alya knew the moment the spell was broken, Marinette’s face turning a fiery red as she realized just where she was and what she had been doing and who had been involved in the whole ordeal.

 

“Thanks, Mari,” he said, ducking his head towards her.  Alya could almost hear her gulp.  “You’re such a great friend, you know?”

 

“Y-yeah, problem!” Marinette squeaked.  Her eyes shot open as she tensed.  “I-I mean no problem!  I’m always yours!  For here!  HERE FOR YOU!”

 

Adrien laughed and squeezed her hands before releasing them.  He shook his head, his grin much more natural as he said, “You’re so cute, Mari.”

 

Aaaaand there went her brain.  Nino’s hand was clamped over his mouth, nearly suffocating himself as he tried not to laugh, and she was fairly certain her lip should be bleeding from how hard she was biting down on it.  Marinette was frozen in place, her hands twitching in front of her from where Adrien had released her, but Adrien had been distracted by a beeping.  He glanced at his phone and sighed, hopping off the wall.

 

“I’ve gotta get to the gym,” he said.  He looked back to Marinette and gave her one last smile.  “Thanks again, Mari.  I’m really glad we’re friends.”

 

“See you tomorrow, then?” Nino managed to ask.  He sounded slightly strangled from the laugh he was still trying to keep in.

 

“Yeah, tomorrow.  Text me when would be good,” Adrien said.  He adjusted the strap of his bag and sighed again.  “But for now, the gym.  At least my schedule tomorrow isn’t quite as _fenced_ in.”

 

“Duuuude,” Nino groaned, used to Adrien’s puns, but the poor joke seemed to be enough to snap Marinette out of her catatonia.  She snorted, her hands flying up to clamp over her mouth, and Adrien grinned at her before waving and heading off.

 

“Hey, Adrien!” Marinette called before he was completely down the steps.  He paused and looked back, and she smiled at him.  “You know…you’re really funny.  Why don’t you tell us about how to tell a joke?”

 

“Mari, no!” Nino and Alya both cried, but Adrien seemed to honestly consider it.  A slow, Cheshire-like grin curled his lips before he looked back at Marinette like she had just given him an all-access pass to her bakery.

 

“You know, I am pretty _pun_ -ctual,” he said, snapping his fingers.  She groaned with Nino, even though Marinette was too blinded by her crush to do much more than giggle.  Of course she was going to find anything he said funny.  “That might actually work.  I really like that idea.  Thanks again, Marinette!”

 

“Welcome,” she sighed dreamily as she waved him off.

 

“What the hell, Marinette?” Nino groaned.  “His jokes are _terrible_!  You should have stuck with the fencing idea!”

 

“Seriously, Mari,” she sighed, looping an arm around her shoulders.  “You may think he’s cute enough to be funny, but his puns!  He thinks he’s a regular Chat Noir, but in reality he’s just…bad.”

 

“Chat’s actually not that funny,” Mari mumbled, but Alya just shook her head.

 

“However not funny you find Chat,” she said sagely, “Adrien is worse.  You better hope Nino can convince him to do something else.”

 

…Nino wasn’t able to convince him to do something else.

 

It wasn’t for lack of trying, but by the time Nino had arrived at Adrien’s house Saturday morning he already had five pages of research on the history of puns, what made a good pun, and a three-page list of some of the worst puns imaginable.  He had even started a slideshow showcasing some of them.  After nearly two hours spent begging him to _think of something else for the love of God PLEASE_ , Nino had finally facetimed her in a final act of desperation.

 

“Alya, babe, _please_ convince this numbskull that he _can’t_ do his presentation on the merits of puns,” he begged.

 

“Ha!  Look at this one – it’s great for you!” Adrien laughed from off-screen somewhere.  “People say I look better without glasses, but I just can’t see it!”

 

They both groaned.  She ran a hand down her face, sighing heavily.

 

“I take it he’s going with the jokes, then?” she asked.  Nino held his phone out, and Adrien suddenly appeared on the screen.

 

“Hey, Alya!  Yeah, it was a really great idea!  I need to thank Marinette again – she’s so great,” Adrien sighed happily, and Alya snickered.

 

“Oh, yes, the greatest,” she quipped.  She spun around in her swivel chair, smirking as Nino mouthed _Help me!_ while Adrien was distracted.  Her eyes landed on a card taped to her wall.  It had been part of her Christmas present from Marinette, a custom pair of gloves designed to keep her hands warm while still allowing her to use her phone in the winter, and a grin curled her lips as she thought back to their conversation after class.  “Y’know, Adrien…you know what would be really nice, to say thanks to Marinette for giving you this great idea?”

 

“What?” he asked, looking at the phone in interest.  Alya grinned at him.

 

“Well, you already told her how much you loved her presentation.  Why not show her how much you actually paid attention by making her some cookies?  You know, to say thanks for being _such_ an inspiration to you?” she asked.  While Adrien looked like he was honestly considering the idea, Nino had visibly paled.  He was furiously shaking his head, but Adrien’s smile was growing with every passing second.

 

“That’s…that’s brilliant, Alya!” he said.  “I told her I wanted to try to bake some, and what better way to say thank you for all her help?  Plus, she’s always making stuff for everyone – she deserves to get something made for her for once!  Hey, Nino, since I’ve pretty much got this covered, want to help me bake instead?”

 

“I…uh, s-sure, bro,” Nino stammered.  He shot Alya a look while Adrien rambled on, and he muttered out a quick excuse before running to the bathroom.  When the door was closed and he was standing over by the shower, he turned furious eyes on Alya.  From the way the screen was shaking, she figured he was gripping the phone pretty hard.  “Alya, are you insane?!”

 

“What?” she asked innocently, snatching up a pen topped with an orange feather to twirl between her fingers.  “I think it’s sweet that he wants to do something to thank Mari.”

 

“He just wanted to thank her – you’re the one who put the idea of doing something in his head!  You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?” he silently shrieked.  “You know what he’s like once he gets an idea in his head!  He’s gonna try and bake now, babe!  You know he can’t bake!”

 

She grimaced slightly, recalling her own words to Marinette: _it would be a_ disaster.

 

“He’ll kill himself!” Nino continued.  “And me, now that I’m helping!  He’s gonna kill both of us, Alya!”

 

“Nino, calm down!” she sighed.  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?  I mean, just because he’s _never_ baked doesn’t mean he _can’t_ bake.”

 

“I hope you take comfort in the fact that you got your boyfriend killed, Alya,” he deadpanned, his eyes lowered in a glare, “and condemned Mari to a loveless existence by killing her potential boyfriend, too.”

 

“Oh come on!” she groaned.  “Look, I’m sure Monsieur Agreste will stop him long before he manages to find the kitchen.  And if not him then Nathalie will.  You have nothing to worry about.”

 

“His dad and Nathalie are at the main offices all day, Alya!  We’re here alone!” he cried.  Alya brought up a hand to rub at her temples.  She was never going to get her blog update done at this rate…

 

“Look, Nino, you’ll be fine.  Just let the guy try, ok?  If anything bad happens, I’ll owe you a coffee,” she said, and his raised eyebrow let her know he wasn’t buying it.  She rolled her eyes and held up two fingers.  “ _Two_ coffees.  And a cinnamon roll.  And one of those fancy tumblers.”

 

“Like the one I got you for our one month anniversary that you conveniently lost in the Seine?” he deadpanned, and she had the decency to look properly abashed.  Nino had gotten her a lovely Ladybug tumbler, thinking it would be great for Ladybug’s biggest fan and creator of the Ladyblog, and it had taken all of a week before Chat Noir had accidentally knocked it into the Seine during an akuma attack.  (It was her own fault for putting it down in the first place, but she had been _so close_ to the action and just _had_ to get a decent photo.)

 

“Exactly,” she said.  She smiled at him.  “Look, I have to finish my blog post.  You go make sure our precious little snowflake doesn’t burn the house down, and I’ll call you tonight, ok?  Love you.”

 

“You owe me,” he grumbled, and Alya chuckled as he disconnected the call.  He would be fine.  Besides, what was the worst that could happen?


	4. In Which Nino is So Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how there’s a disconnect between being shown something and the first time you actually try to do it? Especially if you don’t actually take the time to find a recipe and just use the one you scribbled down during a friend’s speech? Yeah, Adrien’s feeling that so hard right about now. (Fun fact: as a trying-to-be-professional baker, this chapter was the hardest to write.)

…to be fair, Adrien didn’t actually burn down the _entire_ mansion.

 

(It’s important to note, from the beginning, that the Agreste mansion did not actually go down in flames.  At best, it only suffered slight burns and minor bruising.  Nino would later come to claim that the fire was much worse than it actually was, and it tended to grow larger with every retelling (as these things do).)

 

Convinced that his speech would be fine and that it could wait until later (after all, he did have until Tuesday), Adrien had grabbed Nino’s arm as soon as he had emerged from the bathroom and raced out of the room.  Nino had been concerned before, but the sight of the paper crumpled in his bro’s hand – one he recognized from the day prior, the one Adrien had scribbled Marinette’s recipe on – made him kinda sick.

 

“Ok, we have to find the kitchen!” Adrien declared as they came to a stop in the foyer.  (Nino still couldn’t believe his best friend was the sort of person who had a _foyer_.  Before meeting the superstar model, Nino had had no idea what a foyer was.  He hadn’t needed to.)

 

“You’re actually going through with this?” he asked, fidgeting with the headphones he rarely removed from around his neck.  Adrien grinned at him.

 

“Of course!” he said.  “Alya’s right: what better way to say thank you than to make her something, especially if it’s something she told me how to make?”

 

“But she didn’t tell _you_ ,” he pointed out, throwing out his arms in exasperation.  “She told the whole class!  Dude, it wasn’t an invitation to make her baked goods!”

 

“Nino, it’s going to be fine,” Adrien said, laughing at him.  He actually laughed at him, like he wasn’t concerned at all about the Impending Doom looming over their heads.  “Besides, haven’t you ever wanted to bake cookies?  It’s going to be fun!”

 

Oh, his poor, socially stunted snowflake…

 

“Dude, you are _loaded_ ,” he stressed, gesturing to the surrounding mansion.  Adrien frowned and opened his mouth, ready to protest, but he held up his hands.  “ _You are loaded._   Why can’t you just buy her some cookies?  I mean seriously, she lives at a bakery – she’s probably sick of cookies!  Get her a fancy notebook or something!”

 

“Nino,” Adrien sighed, reaching out and placing both hands on his shoulders.  Oh, crap.  Here come the Eyes…  “Marinette is…special.  She deserves better than a notebook.  I want to thank her properly.  Doesn’t she deserve to know _somebody_ actually listened to her speech?”

 

He seriously began to wonder if there was any reported instance of someone being akumatized twice.  If not, his current stress level promised there would be by the end of the day.  (As it was, he was already imagining how perfect Adrien would look in a bubble, way up in the sky and not allowed to come down until this ridiculous baking idea was far from his pretty little numbskull head.)

 

“Now, come on!  I think it should be…let’s try this way!” Adrien said, letting him go as he turned and headed down a corridor that led to the back of the mansion.

 

It took them maybe two hours to actually find the kitchen.

 

Two hours of Nino begging and pleading Adrien to reconsider.

 

Two hours of Adrien starting to question just how much faith his best friend actually had in him.

 

Two hours of Nino realizing there was no backing out of this.

 

And two hours of Nino resigning himself to his fate and promising that they would come out of this cookie fiasco unscathed and Marinette would love them, damn it.  He couldn’t be held accountable for his actions if she didn’t.  (Re: Is It Possible to be Akumatized Twice?)

 

In Adrien’s defense, the kitchen was surprisingly small for a house of the manor’s size.  Nino had expected something on par with the kitchen Alya’s mom worked in at Le Grand Paris, but it ended up being only slightly bigger than his own at home.  He supposed it made sense, given that – despite the grandeur of the mansion – it was only the two Agreste men and usually Nathalie, so really there was no need for a large kitchen to sustain the house.  It’s not like the place was crawling with servants or anything.  Still, he was surprised.

 

Once they actually found the kitchen, navigating it was another story entirely.

 

“…ok, so you’ve been in one of these before, right?” Adrien asked, looking around at the polished countertops, sleek cabinets, and imposing appliances.  Nino groaned and rubbed his temples.

 

“Alya’s going to owe me five coffees by the time we’re done,” he mumbled.  Adrien glanced at him, confused, but he only sighed and pulled him over to a counter.  “All right, let me see that recipe.”

 

When Adrien laid the paper out on the table, Nino had to admit that he was…impressed.  Granted, Marinette had been very thorough with her speech – it was one of the reasons it had worked so well – but Adrien had actually jotted down a fairly complete recipe.  It was rushed, in the way that class notes are, but the recipe was still detailed enough to work.  He found himself thinking they might actually be able to pull this off.

 

“…bowl?”

 

“What?” he asked, looking up from the recipe.  Adrien was frowning at him.

 

“I asked you if you had any idea where a mixing bowl would be, since you know kitchens better than I do,” Adrien said, and he rolled his eyes.

 

“I dunno, man,” he said.  “Just start looking around.  It’s not like anyone can get mad at you for searching your own home.”

 

While Adrien began rummaging through the cabinets, Nino took a look around the kitchen.  He spotted the pantry and fridge easily enough, and he was glad to see a stand mixer sitting near the sink.

 

“We can use that instead of trying to find a mixing bowl,” he said, calling Adrien’s attention to the mixer.

 

“Have you ever used one before?” Adrien asked, and Nino raised his eyebrows over his glasses.

 

“Have you?” he asked, and Adrien shrugged before producing a set of measuring cups and spoons from a drawer.  “We’ve got one at home – I’ve seen my dad use it.  It can’t be that hard.  Anyway, set those on the counter.  Mari said she was doing a half batch, right?  So do you want to try a full batch?”

 

“We should probably stick to the recipe,” Adrien said.  A crash from the cabinet made Nino turn around.  Adrien was standing there holding up a cookie sheet like it was buried treasure.  “Got it!”

 

“You know I can always look up a recipe on my phone, right?” Nino asked.  “Alya said Pinterest is great for stuff like that.”

 

“I really want to use Mari’s recipe,” Adrien said.  He sighed again, grabbing butter and eggs from the fridge before meeting Adrien back at the counter.  Adrien had managed to find the cookie sheet, the measuring cups, two spoons (a larger one for mixing and a smaller one for scooping), and the bowl for the mixer.  He was holding up the mixing attachment.  “This was with the bowl.  I’m guessing it’s the mixing part?”

 

“Dude, you just…how have you survived all these years?” Nino asked, laughing at the absurdity of it all.  Adrien frowned, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, and Nino reached over and lightly punched his shoulder.  “I’m joking, bro.  Yeah, that’s the…paddle, I think it’s called?”

 

“What else do we need?” Adrien asked, looking at the recipe.  Nino pointed to the pantry.

 

“Flour, sugar, salt, and baking soda,” he said.  “Oh, and chocolate chips.  Can’t forget those.”

 

“Just sugar?” Adrien asked as he went to the pantry.  He was frowning like he was trying to recall what Marinette had done.  Nino tapped the note he had scribbled.

 

“A fourth and a half of white and brown sugars,” he read.  After a moment, Adrien returned with two containers.  Both were marked ‘sugar’, but where one was crystalized the other was a fine powder.  Nino frowned as he tapped the first container.  “No, dude, the other is like…powdered sugar.  You can’t use it for cookies.”

 

“I can’t believe there’s more than one type of sugar,” he heard Adrien grumble as he took the other sugar container back to the pantry.  He returned with a container of flour and two small jars labeled ‘salt’ and ‘baking powder’.  A bag of chocolate chips was balanced on top of the flour.  Nino frowned as he snatched the baking powder from him.

 

“You wrote down baking soda,” he said, and Adrien blinked at him.

 

“What’s the difference?” he asked, and as much as he wanted to slap his forehead and tell him there was a BIG difference…he honestly didn’t know.  He just knew that, clearly, they couldn’t be the same thing.  …right?

 

“I…you said you wanted to follow Mari’s recipe, and Mari’s recipe calls for – as you wrote down – baking _soda_ ,” he said instead, and Adrien frowned as he took the jar back.  When he came back, he had an identical jar labeled ‘baking soda’ and another container with brown sugar.  Nino started organizing their supplies, glancing over the recipe as he worked.  He went over to the oven and set it to Th6.

 

“You said a fourth and a half of the sugars, right?” Adrien asked.  Nino looked down at the recipe he had brought with him.

 

“Yeah, add that to…half a cup of butter,” he said.  He came back to the mixer as Adrien measured out a fourth of a cup and a half of a cup of sugar, dumped it in the bowl with the cold butter, and repeated the process with the brown sugar.  He fixed the bowl on the mixer, attached the paddle, lowered the head, and looked at Nino with a wide grin.

 

“Ready?” he asked.  Nino didn’t trust how excited he looked, but Nino wasn’t trusting a lot of the day already.  He sighed and rubbed his temples.

 

“Just do it, dude,” he groaned.  When Adrien flipped the switch, Nino winced at the hard chopping sound.  They both glanced into the bowl and frowned.

 

“I don’t remember it looking that…crumbly,” Adrien said, and Nino folded his arms over his chest as Adrien switched the mixer off.  “Wait, didn’t she say something about heating up the butter?”

 

“Melt it?” Nino suggested, and Adrien shrugged.  His guess was as good as his own.  Nino took the bowl and looked around the kitchen.  “Microwave…microwave…a-ha!  There we go!”

 

Adrien’s eyes widened as he carried the metal mixing bowl over to the microwave on the other counter.  Nino jumped as his friend scrambled over to him.

 

“Whoa, whoa, Nino, wait!” Adrien cried, grabbing the bowl from him.  “I may not know baking, but I do know science!  You can’t put a _metal bowl_ in a _microwave_!”

 

“…well, _duh_ ,” Nino snapped, an eyebrow lifting high enough that it disappeared under the brim of his hat.  He swore he knew that, despite the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.  (He also swore Alya would never find out that he, and not Adrien, was the one that almost burned the house down.)  He waved his arm at the other counter, where Adrien had left the glass bowl he had pulled out earlier.  “Grab the other bowl, then!”

 

Two minutes later, they were staring into a bowl of sugary sludge.  Adrien gave the mix a hesitant stir, his cheeks puffing out in frustration.  The butter had completely melted, but neither had accounted for the reaction of the sugar in the microwave, as well.  Parts had crystalized around the edges, but with a little elbow grease Adrien was able to get most of it mixed.  Still, it didn’t look as creamy as either remembered Marinette’s mix being.

 

“Maybe…maybe it’ll be better when we add the egg?” Adrien hazarded, glancing up at him.  Nino shrugged.  He had helped his parents in the kitchen on occasion, but cooking had never really been his thing.  His dad handled most of the cooking in their house, actually, and he had just never been interested enough to learn.  Even then, he couldn’t really recall his dad ever actually _baking_ anything.  Any time baked goods appeared in their house, they came from a bakery – usually the Dupain-Cheng’s.

 

“Can’t hurt,” he said, shrugging helplessly.  “Dude, I honestly have no clue.  Like…I wanna help, I do, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Adrien assured him.  He was staring at the mixture with a determined frown.  Nino wanted to trust him, but he had doubts.  Big, honkin’, severe _Doubts_.  He kept them to himself as Adrien transferred the sludge back into the mixing bowl, though – but they only grew worse when Adrien attempted to break the egg and smashed it on the counter.  “….uh…”

 

“Ok, that’s one thing I can do,” Nino snickered, grabbing the bowl and another egg.  He held up a finger and grinned.  “Watch and learn, young Padawan.”

 

With one hand on his hip and the other holding the egg, he quickly snapped the egg against the counter, placed it over the bowl, pried it open with his fingers, and dropped the egg into the mix.  All single-handedly.  His grin grew as Adrien gaped at him, and he dropped the shell over the mess his bro had previously made.

 

“Dude, that is so… _egg_ -cellent,” Adrien breathed in wonder.  Nino groaned, the moment properly ruined by the return of Adrien’s bad jokes.  “How did you _do_ that?”

 

“Dad has me do the prep work,” he said with a shrug as he put the bowl back on the mixer and reattached the paddle.  “I’m boss at breaking eggs.”

 

“You’re practically the top rooster,” Adrien quipped, and he groaned and shoved him with his clean hand before going to wash his hands.

 

“Dude, stop!  I keep telling you: you’re not funny!” he laughed.  Adrien was smirking when he came back.

 

“You keep saying that, but I know for a fact there’s at least one person in Paris who thinks I’m hilarious,” he said.  He glanced at the recipe again before reaching for the flour.  Nino watched as he measured out a little over a cup.

 

“Your dad doesn’t count,” he chided.  He paused a moment to think.  “Actually, Nathalie doesn’t count.  I don’t think your dad thinks anything is hilarious.”

 

“No, not them,” Adrien said with a roll of his eyes.  “Marinette.”

 

“Oh, she doesn’t count either,” Nino laughed, nudging him with his elbow.  When Adrien lifted an eyebrow at him, he realized his mistake and laughed nervously.  “I-I mean, yeah, bro.  Ok.  One person in all of Paris thinks you’re funny.”

 

“And don’t you forget it,” Adrien smirked.  He flipped the switch for the mixer, and Nino barely had a chance to shout at him to wait before a plume of flour rose to cover them both.  Nino quickly wiped off his glasses and glared at Adrien, who was blinking in shock at the mess before them.  The previously silver mixer was dusted white, as were the surrounding walls and counter.  When he glanced up, there was even a bit of flour on the ceiling.  “How…”

 

“Dude!  Never crank it all the way up after adding flour!” Nino cried.  “You have to stir it first!”

 

“But…isn’t that what the mixer does?” Adrien asked, looking back at him.  He groaned and slapped his hand over his face, effectively smudging his glasses.

 

“Bro…no.  Like, see the settings?  The first one is _stir_.  The ones after are for mixing.  You have to stir it before you can mix it,” he explained.  Adrien peered into the bowl, frowning.

 

“Well…think another half a cup?  It looks like only half got out,” he guessed.  Nino groaned and nodded.

 

“Aprons would have been helpful,” he grumbled as Adrien added more flour to the bowl.  He carefully turned the switch to stir, and Nino sighed as the paddle gently incorporated the flour.  “Aprons would have been so freakin’ helpful.”

 

Adrien chucked a chocolate chip at him before adding a cupful to the mix.  Nino chuckled and leaned on the flour-covered counter.  He tried not to think about the dusting that was making him look like a cheap horror flick ghost, figuring he was already messy enough that a bit more wouldn’t hurt.

 

“Think it looks ok?” Adrien asked after a moment, and Nino nodded after looking in the bowl.  He grabbed the smaller spoon Adrien had found and scooped out a bit.  It looked a little…sticky, but it should work.  They had used exactly what the recipe had called for, after all, so everything should be fine.  Right?

 

Right.

 

“How long do I put them in for?” Adrien asked after they had scooped twelve nearly-identical lumps of dough onto the cookie sheet.  Nino frowned as he read through the directions again.

 

“You didn’t write it down,” he said, and Adrien gaped at him.

 

“What?  No, I had to have!” he cried.  He left the tray on the stove and grabbed the recipe.  It only took him a moment to realize Nino had been right, and he groaned.  “No, no, no!  Do you remember how long she said?  I know it wasn’t that long…”

 

“I dunno,” Nino said with a shrug.  “My dad usually just puts everything in for thirty minutes.”

 

Adrien’s frown deepened, a look somewhere between incredulity and annoyance lodging itself on his face, but it was his own fault.  He was the one who didn’t copy the recipe properly.  As the model considered the paper again, he brought up a hand and rubbed at his chin.  He was biting his lower lip, and Nino rolled his eyes as he snatched the recipe back.

 

“Dude, do _you_ remember?” he asked, and Adrien sighed as he shook his head.

 

“No,” he admitted.  “I guess thirty minutes isn’t really that long…they should be fine.  Ok.  Sounds good to me.”

 

It wasn’t good.

 

It wasn’t good at all.

 

It had started out good, at least.  Sort of.  Adrien had started washing dishes – a sight Nino had never thought he’d ever see – while he had set about putting their ingredients away.  As they worked, they talked and laughed about the latest goings-on around the school and city in general.  As the cookies baked, the kitchen took on the amazing smell of baked goods.  Had either of them thought to check the oven at this point, they would have noticed that the cookies – while kind of flat and crinkly-looking – were turning a dark, golden brown color, and they may have realized that the cookies should have been removed from the oven.  As it was, Nino had launched into a reenactment of Alix and Kim’s latest dare, which Adrien had missed thanks to a photo shoot.  Nino was just getting to the good part, where Chloé had crossed the hallway in the middle of the race and ended up shoved into a muddy puddle, when Adrien’s attention was caught by a smoky, burning smell.  Nino caught a whiff a moment later, after watching Adrien’s nose crinkle in distaste, and they both frowned as they looked at the oven – just in time to see flames leap up from some of the dark shapes on the cookie sheet.

 

The high-pitched keening of the fire alarm followed seconds later.

 

“Dude, get ‘em out, get ‘em out!” Nino screeched as Adrien bolted for the oven.  When he opened the door, more of the cookies – which resembled flattened hockey pucks by this point – burst into flame, and the ones already on fire burned brighter as the fresh air hit them.  Adrien blindly reached in for the tray, only to yelp when his bare hand touched the edge of the pan and came back burnt.  “Dude, _gloves_!”

 

Adrien caught the oven mitts he tossed him, slipped them on, and grabbed the tray again.  He slammed it down on the stovetop and kicked the oven door closed, quickly shutting the oven off before turning back to Nino and demanding a fire extinguisher.

 

“Where do you keep it?!” Nino screeched, frantically searching the walls for anything that resembled the safety device he was looking for.  Adrien snapped at him that he didn’t know – it was his first time using the kitchen, after all – and Nino groaned as he grabbed a towel and tossed it at him instead.  “Here – smother it!”

 

Attempting to smother the burning cookies with a towel was…not the best idea.  Adrien yelped again as the towel, which he had wrapped around his hand, caught fire – and the yelp turned into a full-out scream when he flung the towel from his hand and it smacked against the wall, which then proceeded to burn, as well.

 

Nino had known this would all end in disaster.  He had known Adrien cooking would get him killed, and even the knowledge that Alya now owed him two coffees, a cinnamon roll, and a fancy tumbler did not console him in that fact.

 

“Oh my _God_ , dude!” he whined as he grabbed the brim of his hat and pulled it down over his eyes.  He missed the glare Adrien shot at him, but he heard the shouting loud and clear – even over the still-screaming fire alarm.

 

“Nino, don’t just stand there – grab some water or some –!” Adrien’s voice cut off, as did the fire alarm, as a loud hiss sounded.  It actually sounded like a giant can of whipped cream, and it was odd enough that Nino lifted his hat and glanced up.  “…thing.  Um.  _Crap._ ”

 

Nathalie Sancoeur stood beside Adrien like an avenging angel, the fire extinguisher propped on her hip with the dripping hose extended towards the now-covered, properly-extinguished former-fire.  A thick coating of a fluffy-looking, fire-squelching substance coated the wall and stovetop.  Behind Nathalie, Gabriel Agreste stood with his hands clasped behind his back.  They both looked…well, somehow _pissed_ didn’t seem like a strong enough word.

 

“Would someone please care to explain what the blazes is going on here?” Monsieur Agreste asked, his voice deathly silent.  Everything about his and Nathalie’s presence – from their sudden appearance, to their posture, to the grim expressions on both of their faces – suggested that this was a Very Serious Matter, which meant that it was not at all a time for jokes.  Even if it was, hadn’t they just established that Gabriel Agreste did not have a sense of humor?  So whatever had inspired Adrien to take his words as a playful pun that caused him to snort, his hand immediately clapping against his mouth to stifle his snickers, was beyond Nino.  He was thoroughly convinced his bro had a death wish.  But when Monsieur Agreste barked his name, Adrien immediately sobered and hung his head in shame.

 

“I’m so sorry, Father,” he said.  “Don’t get mad at Nino – it’s my fault.”

 

“Adrien, what happened?” Nathalie asked.  She didn’t look any happier, but her voice was kinder, at least.  Adrien still winced at the imploring look she gave him.

 

“No, dude, I should have tried to talk you out of it more,” Nino tried, but Adrien held up a hand.

 

“No, Nino.  It’s my fault,” he sighed.  “I…I was trying to do something nice for a friend, but I guess we had the recipe wrong and…”

 

“You were trying to…what were you trying to make?” Nathalie asked, glancing at the fire agent-covered hockey pucks on the cookie sheet.

 

“Cookies,” Adrien mumbled, and the adults blinked at him.

 

“Cookies,” Monsieur Agreste echoed.  His eyebrows furrowed over the rims of his glasses, and Nino gulped as he took an involuntary step back.  Nathalie continued to stare at the cookie sheet, a dazed look of bemusement on her face.  She didn’t seem _as_ angry as Monsieur Agreste, but she had always been the chiller of the two.  If anything, she just looked concerned – and maybe a bit relieved that they had arrived when they did.

 

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Adrien clarified.  As if that made any of this better.  “For a friend.”

 

Monsieur Agreste’s eyes remained narrowed as he studied his son.  While glad he was not also the subject of that stare’s attention, Nino couldn’t help but pity his friend.  Gabriel Agreste wasn’t known as being an understanding man, and there were times Nino severely doubted he had a kind or compassionate bone in his body.  The fact that he hadn’t even let his only son have a birthday party was enough to attest to that, in Nino’s book (the scarf he had gifted him notwithstanding, as Nino had never been as impressed with the gift as Adrien had – especially once Alya let slip Monsieur Agreste hadn’t been behind the scarf at all).  But as the seconds ticked by, Nino almost found himself relaxing.  He realized Monsieur Agreste’s stare had turned perplexed.  While the anger was still there, there was also a hint of confusion.  Curiosity.  A frustrating inability to understand, and Nino was surprised to find he actually kind of sort of maybe sympathized with it.  Just a little.  After what felt like an eternity, the fashion tycoon finally spoke.

 

“Adrien…you _do_ realize you are…” he started.  Nino watched with growing amusement as Monsieur Agreste paused, a frown more perplexing than his usual scowl curling his lips.  It occurred to him in that moment that Gabriel Agreste was actually trying to find a way to remind his only son that he was _really, really, ridiculously loaded_ without sounding like a bad _Zoolander_ rip-off.  If it hadn’t been the only time Nino could ever remember actually agreeing with the man, he might have felt bad for him.

 

“Dude…” he finally chimed in, figuring in that one instance he might actually cut the elder Agreste some slack.  He walked back over to his friend, directly in the line of fire, and Adrien jumped when his hand came down on his shoulder.  “I _told you_ to just buy the damn things.”

 

Monsieur Agreste’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Nathalie almost – _almost_ – laughed.  Nino definitely caught a twitch of her lips before she schooled her expression back into the impassive mask befitting an employee of Gabriel Agreste.  Biting the figurative bullet, he hazarded a look in the adults’ direction.

 

“We’re both sorry,” he said.  “Adrien meant well, du – sir!  Sir.  But he’s…well, y’know.  He’s _Adrien_.”

 

Adrien actually frowned at him like he didn’t understand why that was supposed to matter.  Monsieur Agreste sighed and reached up to massage his temples.

 

“Adrien, you have a personal chef,” he said.  “You could have had him make the cookies, if they had to be homemade.”

 

“But just being homemade wasn’t the point – I had to make them myself!” Adrien protested, throwing his arms out in exasperation.  “Besides, Alya said –”

 

“Dude, _never_ listen to Alya!” Nino groaned, and Adrien turned his frown on him.

 

“But she’s _your_ girlfriend and Marinette’s best friend,” he argued, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Which is why I know you _never listen to Alya_ ,”  he stressed, dipping his head to glare at him.  “You almost got us killed here, dude – look at the stove!  The wall!  Dude, we started a _fire_.  And you’re honestly telling me it wouldn’t have been better if we just bought some cookies?”

 

“Or had your chef help?” Nathalie cut in, but Adrien stubbornly stood his ground.

 

“But Alya _said_ –” he tried to argue.

 

“Enough,” Monsieur Agreste cut in.  “Adrien, I don’t want you coming back to this room unsupervised.  Monsieur…”

 

“Nino,” Nino supplied, and Monsieur Agreste nodded.

 

“Yes.  Thank you for trying to get my son to see reason,” he said, and Nino blinked in surprise.  It was the first technically nice thing he’d ever said to him.  “Perhaps you’re a better influence than I thought, though I still don’t appreciate the damage caused here.  Adrien, your friend will be leaving now.  You will go to your room and consider where you went wrong here.  Nathalie, get this mess sorted.”

 

“I…yes, Father,” Adrien sighed, hanging his head.  He glanced up at Nino and tried to smile.  “Come on, bro.  I’ll see you out.”

 

It took them significantly less time to find the foyer the second time around, and even less to make the trek to Adrien’s room to grab his things and return to the door.  Most of the trip had been spent in an awkward silence, and by the time they reached the front gate Nino had had enough.  As Adrien opened the gate, he reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

 

“Dude…look, I’m sorry,” he said.  “That you got in trouble and…that I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been.  What you tried to do was sweet.  Marinette would have loved it.”

 

“No, you were right,” Adrien sighed.  “It was stupid.”

 

“Nah, bro.  I’m stupid.  Look, you tried, right?  Alya’s shouldn’t have suggested it,” Nino said, but Adrien shook his head.

 

“No, I…I really wanted to do something to say thanks to Marinette,” he said.  “And this seemed perfect.  It…wait, Nino, I have a great idea!”

 

It took everything in him not to groan.  They had been _so close_ …

 

“Dude, do you honestly think your dad –” he started, but Adrien shook his head.

 

“No, not my dad – Marinette’s dad!” he said, looking entirely too excited for what Nino was sure was going to be a Horrible Idea.

 

“Say what now?” he asked.  He yelped as Adrien dove for his pocket, snatching out his phone.  “Dude – personal space, man!”

 

“Call Alya,” he said, holding the phone out to him.

 

“Don’t you have your own phone for that?!” Nino huffed, and Adrien shrugged.

 

“Left it in my room,” he explained.  “Now call!”

 

Alya’s face appeared on his screen moments later.  Her grin was just a bit larger than Nino felt was fair.

 

“I see you’re not dead,” she quipped, and before he could inform her that actually, yes, he almost had been, Adrien snatched the phone from his hands.

 

“Alya!  I have a huge favor to ask you,” he said.  Alya hesitantly nodded, and Adrien’s grin grew larger.  “Can you get Marinette out of the house tomorrow afternoon?  For a couple hours?”

 

“Sure,” she said.  “We were talking about catching a movie tomorrow anyway.  What’s up, though?  How’d the baking go?”

 

“The kitchen caught on fire,” Adrien said blithely, talking right over Alya’s surprised screech.  “So I wanted to ask Monsieur Dupain for some help, but I can’t very well keep it a surprise if Marinette is around.  So can you make sure she’s out of the house?”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa – what do you mean, the kitchen caught on fire?!” Alya shouted.  “Seriously?!  Are you guys all right?  I mean, obviously you’re all right, but what the hell?!”

 

“I’ll fill you in, babe,” Nino sighed, taking the phone back from Adrien.  “Can you just help a bro out, please?  He’s not gonna rest until he makes these damn cookies, and I think his dad’s gonna have him permanently banned from his kitchen.”

 

“I…ok, you owe me deetz – _big time_ ,” she huffed.  “And yes, I’ll keep Marinette occupied tomorrow.  Tell Adrien to text me when he’s gone.”

 

“You’re a lifesaver, Alya!” Adrien cried, throwing an arm around Nino’s shoulders to shoot a finger gun her way.  She groaned and reached up, rubbing her temples.  Nino briefly wondered at how often he had seen – and done – that same gesture that day.  They heard his name being barked from the front of the mansion, and they turned to see Monsieur Agreste glaring from the entrance.  Adrien winced and looked at him again.

 

“Thanks again, and I’m sorry,” he said.  “I…better get back inside.  See you later.”

 

Nino watched as he disappeared inside his home.  Gabriel Agreste leveled him with one final, withering stare before slamming the door, and he sighed as he exited the gate.

 

“Ok,” Alya said, drawing his attention back to his phone as he began the trek home.  She looked like she wanted to laugh, despite the concern still in her eyes.  “I’ll call Mari in a minute.  But first, what the hell even happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake/Deleted Scene: Gabriel Finds the Boys:
> 
> Gabriel Agreste was not the type of man to indulge in debauchery. While he loved a good wine as much as the next Frenchman, he was in no way to be considered a lush. He understood his limits, and he respected them. Given the stress of his job, his life in recent years, and his own natural inclinations, he felt it was a noteworthy fact that he didn’t indulge more.
> 
> That being said, there was nothing Gabriel Agreste wanted more in that moment than a nice, strong glass of brandy. He would even go as far as to say he’d like something stronger and baser, like – God forbid – Caribbean rum or Irish whiskey.


	5. In Which There is Father-Son Bonding (Or: This is Probably What Astruc Meant)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe used in the fic (last chapter and throughout) is your standard back-of-bag Tollhouse chocolate chip (sans nuts). While I’m sure the Dupain-Cheng’s have a better recipe (because French Baking), this was the first cookie recipe I memorized way back when I was a Wee Ver, and it’s still my default in a pinch. (A standard batch produces about three dozen cookies if you use a standard scoop, so technically halving it should produce a little more than twelve. I’m fudging a bit for convenience, but if you don’t want to buy that then just imagine Tom and Adrien talking while eating the remaining dough.)

Tom Dupain was having an exceptionally good day.

 

He had awoken with his alarm after a restful night’s sleep, and after kissing his still-sleeping wife’s cheek he had made his way down to the bakery to get things started for the morning.  It wasn’t long before fresh loaves had been placed in the proofer, and while he waited for them to rise he had enjoyed a simple breakfast of a buttered croissant and coffee.  He was soon lost in the familiar rhythm of the bakery, and about an hour later Sabine joined him in readying the shop for their nine o’clock opening.  The day was surprisingly calm for a Sunday, and while they had the usual rush around noon the day’s flow proved to be steady and relaxed.  Marinette slipped out after the afternoon rush, planning on meeting up with her friend Alya for a late lunch and movie.  After she was gone, it was a good fifteen minutes before he heard the bell above the door jingle again.

 

“Good afternoon!  How can I…” he paused mid-greeting as he took in the blonde boy who had just entered his shop.  It was a boy he knew well: even if he hadn’t visited a few weeks ago to practice with Marinette for the video game tournament, his face was plastered all over his daughter’s bedroom walls.  “Adrien?  What are you doing here, son?”

 

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Dupain!” Adrien greeted, bowing slightly.  Tom smiled, amused at the formality.  “I was hoping to ask a favor.”

 

“Oh?  Well, I’m sorry, but you just missed Marinette,” he said.  “She’s seeing a movie with Alya.”

 

“I know,” Adrien cut in, quickly.  He winced and smiled, looking slightly abashed.  “What I mean is, I wanted to ask _you_ for some help.  As a surprise for Marinette.  Alya’s helping by keeping her busy.”

 

Well, wasn’t that a surprising turn of events.

 

He tried to keep his grin in check as he leaned forward on the counter.  He inclined his head towards the boy and said, “Is that so?  Well, what can I help you with?”

 

And Adrien quickly explained how he had been having trouble with a school project, how encouraging and helpful Marinette had been with it, and how he had wanted to do something to thank her.  Tom was amused to hear Alya’s suggestion of baking Marinette cookies, though he was slightly horrified to hear Adrien’s (albeit brief) story of the small kitchen fire that led him to seek professional help.  So when Adrien finally stood before him, a sheepish smile on his face as he asked for his aid, Tom could only beam at the boy as he asked him to wait just a moment before he disappeared in the back.  Sabine was just placing some pies in the oven.

 

“Sabine!” he silently shrieked in excitement, quickly walking over to her.  She raised her eyebrows at him, an amused smile curling her lips as he grabbed her hands.  “My darling, wonderful wife, can you watch the front for me?”

 

“What’s going on?” she asked, and he grinned at her.

 

“ _Adrien’s here!_ ” he whispered.  Her eyes widened.

 

“What?  What’s he doing here?  Mari’s out with Alya –” she started, and he nodded enthusiastically.

 

“He knows – he set it up!” he crowed.  When she continued to look surprised, he chuckled.  “He wants to bake her cookies, but he needs help.  He asked Alya to keep Marinette away to see if I could help him.”

 

“He…oh!  _Oh!_ ” Sabine gasped, pure delight coloring her face.  She bit her lower lip in an attempt not to squeal.  “My, this is moving faster than I thought!”

 

They weren’t stupid.  They knew how bad their beloved daughter had it for the model.  At first, they had dismissed it as a silly celebrity crush.  Every teenager had them, especially teenage girls.  When Adrien’s pictures first began appearing on her walls almost two years ago, they had equated it with the posters of Jagged Stone or the current actor of the month.  As time passed, however, they quickly realized Marinette’s fascination with the boy was something more.  The more time she spent with him, the longer he was in her class, it became obvious that Adrien Agreste wasn’t a simple crush for their girl – and they had been reasonably concerned.  That concern had vanished about a month ago when he had shown up to practice for the gaming tournament and they had actually seen him interact with her.  It was obvious to them, even if it hadn’t been to the kids, that he was just as smitten with Mari as she was with him.

 

And they had been ecstatic.

 

“So he’s baking her cookies?” Sabine asked, just to clarify.  Tom was beaming as he nodded.

 

“He’s baking her cookies,” he said.  “As a surprise.  To show he cares.”

 

“I’ll send him back,” she said quickly, giggling as she removed her apron and went out to the front.  “Take the pies out in –”

 

“Forty-five minutes, I know!” he laughed as she grinned at him.  Adrien appeared a moment later, and Tom handed him an apron.  The boy smiled nervously as he put it on, and Tom chuckled as he guided him to one of the tables in the center of the room.  “So!  Do you have the recipe you were using?  Maybe we should start by you walking me through what you did.”

 

“Well, it was the recipe Marinette used for her presentation,” Adrien said, pulling a paper out of his pocket.  “She said she was halving it, and I thought I wrote down everything she said, but…well, I think I missed some steps.”

 

Tom hummed as he spread the paper out.  For having copied it from a presentation, it was a fairly complete recipe.  He was impressed.

 

**_1 cup flour (plus 2 tablespoons)_ **

**_½ teaspoon baking soda_ **

**_½ teaspoon salt_ **

**_½ cup butter_ **

**_¼ and ½ cup white & brown sugar_ **

**_½ teaspoon vanilla_ **

**_1 egg_ **

**_1 cup chocolate chips_ **

****

**_Set oven to Th6.  Mix butter, sugars, and vanilla.  Add egg.  Add flour.  Add chips.  Drop by spoonful (should make 12?).  Bake._ **

 

“Well, I can see the first problem here,” Tom said.  “How long did you bake them for?”

 

Adrien was silent, and when Tom looked at him he found the boy was actually blushing.  He lifted his eyebrows, surprised, and Adrien bit his lip before slowly answering, “Well…I forgot to write down that part, and neither of us could remember, so…”

 

“Did you look up another recipe for an idea?” Tom asked, and Adrien shook his head.

 

“I…I wanted to use Marinette’s recipe,” he said.  “Nino…well, Nino said his dad usually put things in the oven for thirty minutes.”

 

“Thirty…?!” Tom squawked, his eyes widening.  He couldn’t help it: he actually laughed.  A big, booming, amused laugh that made the poor kid jump.  His face turned a darker shade of red, but Tom only laughed harder.  “Well, no wonder you set your kitchen on fire!”

 

He grabbed a pen from the cup they kept on the edge of the table and hastily scribbled an addendum to the recipe.

 

“Nine minutes,” he said, smiling at Adrien, whose eyes shot open.  “Sometimes a minute or two longer, depending on your oven, but in a properly calibrated oven it should only take nine minutes.”

 

He tapped the ingredients list with the pen, drawing Adrien’s attention to the sugars.

 

“And here,” he said, “how much sugar did you use?”

 

“A quarter cup and a half a cup,” Adrien said, and Tom frowned.

 

“A quarter cup of regular sugar and a half cup brown?” he asked, and Adrien shook his head.

 

“A quarter cup and a half cup of each,” he said.  “Because I wrote a quarter and half each.”

 

“That was your second problem,” Tom said, chuckling.  “I’m sure Mari told you to use a fourth and a half cup each, since she was halving the recipe.  That means a quarter cup and two tablespoons, which is half of a quarter cup.  What you did was essentially add enough sugar for a full batch of cookies in a half batch.”

 

“…which increased their flammability,” Adrien muttered, and Tom chuckled as he nodded.  Adrien groaned as he slumped over the table, his fingers knotting in his hair as he hung his head.  “Oh, man, I’m so lame!  Nino was right: I was stupid for thinking I could do this!”

 

“Now, now,” Tom chuckled, reaching out to pat his shoulder.  “Everyone makes mistakes, son.  That’s how you learn.  And you did the smart thing and asked for help before you set another kitchen on fire.”

 

Adrien glanced up from between his hands, attempting a small smile, and Tom winked at him.

 

“We’ll get these cookies made, and Mari will love them,” he said.  _And you_ , he mentally added.  “So, first things first!  Take this container and add one cup and two tablespoons of flour.  It’s in the sack over there.  There should be a measuring cup inside.”

 

When Adrien returned a moment later, Tom handed him two more containers and said, “This one is salt, and this one is baking soda.  You need a half teaspoon of each.  Add them to the flour you have there.”

 

“So you get this together first?” Adrien asked as he carefully measured out the two powders, taking care to level them off as Tom instructed.

 

“With most recipes, it helps to have your ingredients together before you start mixing.  What you’re doing now is called _dry prep_ : you’re assembling your dry ingredients so you have them ready to go to add to your wet.  It makes the process go faster, and when you have to produce as many as we do that saved time is needed,” he explained.  Adrien nodded as he dumped the salt on top of the flour, and Tom chuckled when he handed the container back to him.  “And give a little shake, and voilà!  Your dry prep is done.”

 

“What next?” Adrien asked, smiling eagerly.  Tom chuckled as he tapped the recipe.

 

“Now, you would pull out your eggs and butter,” he said.  “We already have some out, but if you were doing this on your own you’d want to pull it out and let it warm up a bit.”

 

“Yeah, we…well, we didn’t let the butter warm up at first,” Adrien said, wincing.  “And when it wasn’t mixing right, we put it in the microwave – but I think it melted too much, then.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure it did,” Tom laughed.  “The key is room temperature.  You don’t want it too cold, but you don’t want it too soft, either.  Some recipes do require melted butter, but there’s a difference between _melted_ and _soft_.”

 

“And it’s important?” Adrien guessed, and Tom nodded.

 

“There’s a big, long, chemical explanation for it,” he said, “but the gist is that it helps properly mix the cookie.  You have a smoother texture in the end if you let your fats mix properly.  It’s the same reason you add your eggs one at a time.”

 

“…the eggs go in one at a time?” Adrien asked, eyes widening again.  When Tom nodded, he sighed.  “We kinda just tossed ‘em in.”

 

“And I bet your cookies were flat,” Tom said, “before they caught fire, at least.”

 

Adrien actually chuckled at that, and Tom grinned  before assuring him these cookies would be fine.  He retrieved one of the smaller mixers from a shelf and placed it on the table before handing Adrien the bowl.  While he went to plug the mixer in, he told Adrien to add the sugar to the bowl.  After telling him where to find it, he reminded him to only add a quarter cup and two tablespoons, chuckling as Adrien nodded with a determined expression.  He looked like Tom was imparting national secrets, which amused the baker to no ends.

 

“So now we’ll add the butter to the sugar and mix,” Tom said.  He showed Adrien how to attach the bowl to the mixer, and after locking the paddle in place showed him where the switch was.  “This process is called creaming.  You don’t want to whip the butter, exactly, but you want it nice and creamy so you know everything’s mixed properly.  You’ll also add your vanilla here.”

 

“And then we add the egg?” Adrien asked, and Tom nodded as he cracked an egg and put it in a small bowl.  He handed it to Adrien, reminding him that if he was doing a full batch, which would have required more eggs, he would have to add them one at a time and mix thoroughly in between additions.  “To make sure the fats mix correctly.”

 

“Exactly,” Tom said with a grin.  “See?  You’re doing just fine, son.”

 

Adrien smiled slightly, a hint of pride shining in his eyes.  He couldn’t help but wonder how often the boy was encouraged at home.  From what Marinette had told him, he couldn’t imagine it was often.

 

“This looks so much better than the mess I made,” Adrien said once the egg was added, glancing into the bowl.  Tom chuckled and handed him the flour mixture.  “And now this goes in?”

 

“Yes, but you’ll want to add it slowly,” he said.  He paused and looked at the mixture, thoughtful.  “Actually, it’s not a lot – you can add it all in, if you’d like.  But the trick is to jog the mixer at first, no matter how much flour you add.”

 

“…jog?” Adrien asked, and Tom nodded for him to add the flour.  Once it was in the bowl, he switched the mixer from _off_ to _stir_ a few times, making sure the flour was incorporated before switching it to a medium setting.  Adrien’s eyes widened in delight.  “ _Oh!_   I…was kinda picturing taking the mixer for a walk, like a dog.”

 

Tom stared at him for a moment before he found himself laughing again.  Adrien’s grin was sheepish as he looked back at the dough.

 

“We kinda made a mess at this point,” he admitted, “so I don’t even know if we had enough flour.  It kinda ended up on the ceiling.”

 

Tom’s laughs tapered into chuckles as he tilted the mixer head up again.  He nodded and said, “That’s why you jog it.  If you don’t, the flour plumes up and gets everywhere.”  He leaned in conspiratorially and added in a low voice, “I’ll tell you a secret.  The first time Mari used the mixer, she didn’t jog it, either.  She looked like she was a ghost from _A Christmas Carol_ with the mess she made.”

 

It was Adrien’s turn to laugh, and Tom smiled as the boy’s laughter filled the back room.  Sabine appeared briefly by the door, just to grab a baguette from the basket of extras, and she caught his eye over Adrien’s golden head.  They shared a smile, both delighted to hear the sound and see the boy’s reaction.  Tom knew she was thinking the same thing he was: Adrien was a presence they could get used to having around more often.

 

“She got the hang of it soon enough, though,” Tom continued once Adrien’s laughter had calmed.  He grabbed a container of chocolate chips from a shelf and paused as something else caught his eye.  “Say, Adrien…what do you say we make these extra special, for Marinette?”

 

“What did you have in mind?” Adrien asked, perking up.  Tom snatched the bottle he had been looking at and brought it and the chips back over to the table.  He placed the bottle of pink dye in front of Adrien, who grinned at the sight of it.

 

“Marinette _loves_ pink,” Tom said with a wink.  “What do you say we add some to these cookies?”

 

“I think she’ll love it,” Adrien laughed, and Tom grinned as he added a few drops into the dough, along with a cup of the chips, before hitting the switch to mix it in.  “That won’t be too dark?”

 

“It’ll lighten as it bakes,” Tom assured him.  Once the dough was mixed, he took the bowl and placed it on the table between them.  “Now, we could put this straight in the oven, but remember what I said about making sure the fats mix properly?”  At Adrien’s nod, he continued.  “That’s also sort of why it’s a good idea to chill your dough before you bake it.  Cold dough means the fat takes longer to melt, so your cookies won’t get as flat.  We don’t have a lot of dough here, so…”

 

He checked the timer on Sabine’s pies and grinned.

 

“About twenty minutes left on those.  Usually I’d say chill your dough for a minimum of thirty minutes, but for this amount twenty should be fine,” he said.  He placed some wrap over the bowl and put it in the fridge before turning back to Adrien.  “Want to help me with something else while we wait?”

 

He was further surprised by Adrien’s eagerness to help.  He had handed him a few recipes and containers, asking him to get the dry prep ready, while he readied the next batch of pies for Sabine.  Adrien was methodical, giving his assignment his entire focus in order to not mess it up, and Tom could appreciate the diligence he was allotting his task.  They held easy conversation as they worked, and he was unsurprised to learn of the boy’s busy schedule.  Marinette had alluded to as much, and it touched him that the boy would still make time to learn how to bake for his daughter.  Adrien was in the middle of recounting a story from his last fencing practice when the timer beeped, and Tom moved to the oven to retrieve the pies.  Adrien hurried over as he set them on the cooling rack.  The boy was practically salivating.

 

“Those smell amazing,” he breathed.

 

“They’re Sabine’s specialty,” Tom confided.  “Tell you what.  When they’re cooled a bit, would you like some?”

 

“Really?  Yes!  Thank you!” Adrien gushed, and Tom chuckled as he suddenly blushed, embarrassed again.  “I…sorry.  I love baked goods.  My father doesn’t really let me have them that often – model’s diet – so I guess I get a little…over-excited?”

 

“It’s fine, Adrien,” Tom laughed.  “I can appreciate someone appreciating baked goods – that’s what keeps me in business, after all.”

 

“Well, that and you’re an amazing baker.  This is the best bakery in Paris – and I’m not the only one who thinks so,” Adrien said.  Tom laughed again and reached out, ruffling his hair.

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, son,” he said.  “Now, go get the dough from the fridge, and we’ll get your cookies in the oven.”

 

When Adrien returned to the table, he had set out a baking sheet and had a scoop in his hand.  Adrien eyed the scoop curiously, and he squeezed the handle a few times.

 

“You can always just use a spoon, but this makes the job much easier – and it gives you uniform cookies,” he said, handing the scoop to him.  Adrien took it, squeezing experimentally a few times until he had the feel of the tool.  “So just scoop some dough out, squeeze the handle, and put the dough on the sheet.  A dozen will fit on here, so you’ll want four rows of three.  And when you scoop, make sure you drag it along the edge of the bowl to insure you have the same amount of dough in each cookie.”

 

Adrien was meticulous with lining up the scoops, ensuring they were evenly spaced on the sheet.  He took a bit of a time with it, but for a beginner he wasn’t bad.  Tom grinned when Adrien gave the tray of cookies a final assessment before looking back to him, eager to know he’d done well.  Tom nodded and picked up the tray.

 

“Good job,” he said.  “Now, how long do these go in for?”

 

“Nine minutes!” Adrien chirped, opening the oven for him.  “ _Not_ thirty!”

 

“Good!” Tom laughed, nodding in approval.  And nine minutes later, he was removing the tray from the oven and pointing to the edges of the cookies, which had turned a nice golden color.  He explained how you always check the edges, and how to tell when they were ready, and congratulated Adrien on a job well done as the cookies looked perfect.  As he placed them on the cooling rack, a goofy look came over the boy’s face.

 

“They look like little ladybugs with the color,” he said, an almost wistful lilt to his voice.  It shouldn’t have surprised Tom: Ladybug mania had overtaken the city the past few years, and he supposed the cookies did look like overgrown, pale ladybugs with the pink food dye mixed in.  He glanced up at Adrien and smiled kindly.

 

“So, I take it you’re a big Ladybug fan?” he asked knowingly, and Adrien jumped and glanced up at him with a nervous flush coloring his cheeks.

 

“I-I…yeah, I guess,” the teen said.  “I mean, Ladybug’s the best.  She’s so awesome.  I love her.”

 

Adrien’s eyes grew wide as soon as the words left his mouth, as if he only realized a moment too late what he was actually saying.  His face turned a darker red, and Tom laughed and slapped his knee.

 

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, leaning close.  Adrien leaned in, and Tom winked at him.  “Mari’s more of a Chat Noir fan, but I agree: I think Ladybug’s awesome, too.”

 

“Wait, Marinette likes Chat Noir?” Adrien asked, as if the news surprised him.  Tom nodded.

 

“She even has a big black cat pillow on her bed,” he whispered conspiratorially, and he couldn’t help but notice how pleased Adrien looked at that.  There was a silly little smile on his face, which was still flushed a light red, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he looked back to the cooling cookies.

 

“I didn’t think she was such a fan,” he said softly, and Tom nodded.

 

“Oh, yes,” he said.  “Don’t get me wrong, though.  As much as I like Ladybug, Chat Noir is pretty awesome, too.”

 

“You think?” Adrien asked, and he nodded.

 

“Of course.  See, there’s something about Ladybug that…well, I’ll tell you another secret,” he said.  “Ladybug reminds me a lot of Marinette.  Maybe it’s because she’s another young girl with dark hair.  Maybe it’s just because I’m a father who would do anything for his little girl.  But I look at Ladybug, and I’m grateful that Paris has her to keep it safe – but I’m also glad she has Chat Noir to keep _her_ safe.”

 

Adrien was silent at that.  The teen was staring at him in wonder, a dazed sort of expression on his face.

 

“Have you ever noticed how young Ladybug and Chat Noir look, Adrien?” he continued, and after a moment Adrien nodded.  “I can’t help but think that they’re both still children, even if they are older children.  Somewhere out there, they have parents who worry over them just as much as I worry over Marinette – as much as your father worries over you, I’m sure.  I see Ladybug, and I wonder how I would feel if it was Marinette behind the mask.  How proud I would be, but how scared I would be knowing that my little girl was endangering herself like that.  I’m glad knowing Chat Noir is watching out for her.  I’d like to think Mari would have someone like him to protect her in that situation, so I guess I think he’s kind of awesome, too.”

 

He laughed then, suddenly embarrassed for letting the conversation get so serious.  But when he looked again at Adrien, the boy – no, young man – was looking back at him with the fierce sparkle of determination in his eyes, an unspoken promise glittering in their green depths.

 

“I’m sure Chat Noir does everything in his power to protect Ladybug, sir,” he said, voice firm.  “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Adrien looked back to the cookies with a thoughtful expression.  He seemed nervous for a moment before he looked back to Tom.

 

“Do…I know I’ve taken up a lot of your time already, sir, but do you think we could make another batch?  This time making them red?” he asked, and Tom smiled as he nodded.

 

“Of course, Adrien,” he said.  “I don’t mind.  I’ve actually enjoyed spending the afternoon with you.  I can see why Mari is so fond of you.”

 

He froze as he realized what he had let slip, but when he snuck a glance at Adrien the teen seemed completely unfazed.  He was smiling easily as he grabbed the container they had used to hold the dry ingredients and went back to the sack to get more flour.  As he scooped out the cup he needed, he said, “I’ve really enjoyed today, too.  Mari’s so great – I really hope she likes these.”

 

About half an hour later, he was helping Adrien box up the pink cookies while the red ones (which, surprisingly, did look like ladybugs) cooled.  The dozen was arranged perfectly in a small pink box, and while they waited for the other batch to cool Adrien pulled a card out of his bag.  Tom smiled as he wrote out a note and tucked the card under a ribbon on the box.  He considered the gift for a moment before looking back at Tom.

 

“Can you…can you make sure she gets these?” he asked, and Tom smiled as he took the box from him.

 

“They’ll be on her desk waiting for her when she gets home,” he said, nodding.  Adrien grinned, and after boxing up the ladybug cookies Tom was walking him to the door.  He thanked the boy again for asking for his help, commenting how much he enjoyed teaching him, and as he was waving farewell Adrien hesitated.

 

“Monsieur Dupain?” he called, his hand hovering on the door.  He was staring at one of the bread baskets by the door, a slight blush staining his cheeks as he bit his lip.  “Thank you for not asking me why I didn’t just buy the cookies.”

 

Tom felt a twinge of pain in his heart for the boy.  From what Marinette had told him, he didn’t have the easiest home life.  He knew Adrien was kind, sweet, and generous – he had seen it firsthand the entire afternoon.  It was a total contradiction with what he would expect of a teenaged celebrity, as he had seen typified in Chloé Bourgeois.  He may have only met him a few times before, but in every story Marinette told involving the boy he shone with sincerity.  Throughout their conversations that afternoon, he had also seen the genuine affection the boy held for his daughter.  It disturbed him that everyone in the boy’s life apparently expected him to take the easy way out, belittling the effort and intention of the gift.

 

“Adrien, I understand completely,” he said, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder.  Adrien looked up at him with startled eyes, and he smiled kindly at him.  “It’s not the same if you just buy them.  They’ll mean so much more because you put the work in.  Marinette will appreciate that.”

 

Any doubt washed away from Adrien’s face, and then he was beaming at Tom again.  He bowed his head and thanked him again before leaving.  Tom looked back to Sabine once he was gone, unsurprised to see the brilliant smile curling her lips.  He walked over and hugged her, chuckling as he kissed the crown of her head.

 

“I really hope he starts coming around more,” she said, squeezing him back.  “I think he needs someone like you in his life.”

 

“I think he needs someone like Mari in his life,” Tom chuckled.  Sabine sighed dreamily as she released him.

 

“Oh, our grandchildren are going to be so beautiful…” she murmured as she went back to check on her pies.  Tom collapsed on the counter, laughing so hard his sides hurt.  He had no doubt she was right, but he also had no doubt the kids wouldn’t want to hear her say that any time soon.

 

– V –

 

Marinette didn’t return until later that evening, having grabbed some food with Alya after their movie as they enjoyed the last of their weekend.  She seemed happy as she walked through the door, waving to her father as he swept up for the night.

 

“Evening, Monsieur Dupain!” Alya called as she followed Marinette into the bakery.  He smiled and waved.

 

“Good evening, Alya,” he said.  “Enjoy your movie, girls?”

 

“It was ok,” they both said.  Marinette shrugged before continuing.  “It wasn’t quite what we were expecting.”

 

“That’s a shame,” he said, smiling as his daughter shrugged.

 

“Eh, you can’t always win,” Alya said.  She glanced at her phone, and Tom chuckled to himself.  The device never seemed to leave the blogger’s hands.  “My mom said she called ahead?  Needed me to pick up an order?”

 

“Oh, yes, it’s in the back,” he said.  “I’ll go get it.”

 

“I can get it, Papa,” Marinette said.  “I have to grab a book for Alya, anyway.  Be right back!”

 

He smiled fondly as he watched Marinette disappear into the back, and he jumped when he looked back to the front of the store to find Alya leaning on the counter before him.  There was a devilish little smirk on her face, her head dipped forward with her eyebrows raised over the rims of her glasses.

 

“So…?” she prodded, and he chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck and echoed her question.  Her smirk only grew.  “I see the bakery is still standing.”

 

“He did fine,” he said, his smile warming.  “He just needed some…guidance.”

 

“Papa?”

 

They both jumped as Marinette appeared again.  She held the bag with the Césaire’s order in one arm, a small book held in that hand, and her eyes scanning a note held in the other.  She glanced up at him, frowning as she held up the note.

 

“Did…did someone from school stop by today?” she asked.  He frowned at her.

 

“Of course,” he said.  “Adrien stopped by to leave you the cookies.  Didn’t he say that in the card?”

 

“A-Adrien?!” she squeaked, but before he could question her again Alya rushed forward and plucked the note from her fingers.

 

“Oh my God, no way!” she cackled, her face lighting up in pure glee.  “No freakin’ way!  He didn’t sign it!  Oh my God, you guys are _so_ perfect for each other!”

 

“A-Adrien did this?” Marinette asked again, looking up at him with wide eyes.  She looked a little awestruck, as if she was afraid to believe the gift had actually been from the model.  He nodded, smiling gently at her.

 

“He wanted to thank you for all your help the past couple days,” he said.  Alya grinned and nudged her side.

 

“He’s leaving you _presents_ ,” she said, sing-songing the word ‘presents’.  Marinette’s smile warmed – as did her face – as she looked back to the note.

 

“Adrien baked me cookies,” she murmured in wonder, and Alya laughed as she snatched her mother’s order and the book from her friend.  Marinette looked up at her, her eyes sparkling.  “Alya, Adrien baked me cookies!”

 

As he watched his daughter jump and squeal, laughing as she hugged her best friend (who was actively trying to both return the hug and shove her off), Tom Dupain couldn’t help but smile.

 

Yes, he was having an _exceptionally_ good day.


	6. In Which Adrien Blows It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I’m sure every country/culture has (commoners’ food) convenience stores and Nino is all about midnight slurpees and crusty nachos, I keep thinking it’s also France and Oh No They Don’t You Heathen because FRENCH. But microwave burritos, man. They saved Agreste’s life.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was having an exceptionally good weekend.

 

She had aced her presentation on Friday, and not only that but she had also managed to impress her longtime crush Adrien Agreste.  He had even initiated a conversation after class, praising her for a job well done and commenting how she had inspired him to actually want to try his hand at baking.  He had even taken _two_ of her sample cookies, and the look on his face as he had bit into them had made everything worth it.

 

The day had only gotten better from there, and she had actually managed to initiate _another_ conversation with Adrien – one where she had actually encouraged him and didn’t manage to stutter or trip up her words once!  …well, ok, _once_ , but Adrien had been so delighted he’d even called her cute!

 

Adrien Agreste thought she was cute!

 

She had even given him an idea for his own presentation, which he had been struggling with the entire week.  All in all, her Adrien game had been on point – she was actually kind of proud of herself.

 

To make things even better, Hawk Moth had decided to lay low for a bit.  There had been no akuma attacks since Wednesday evening, and she was enjoying the respite from her superhero life.  She had still gone on patrol Friday night, but even that had remained blissfully uneventful.  (…well.  Chat Noir had been a bit more obnoxious than usual in the puns department, but she really didn’t count that as being eventful anymore.  Even if it did make her want to whack him upside the head with her yoyo.)

 

Saturday had even been pleasant.  Her morning had been spent at the park with Manon, and during the afternoon she had managed to complete a sundress she had been working on.  Alya had invited her to a movie Sunday, and while the movie hadn’t been that great she had returned home to find _Adrien actually had tried his hand at baking and had made her cookies_.  Her weekend could not possibly get any better, and it only continued as Monday rolled around.

 

She had managed to arrive to class early, and as soon as Adrien greeted her she had thanked him for his gift.  His smile had been so beautiful, and it had only grown more so as she had told him how much she loved the cookies.  It wasn’t a lie: they had been delicious, and she had been honestly impressed considering it had been his first time baking.  He had actually blushed at that, and for some reason Nino and Alya had dissolved into a snickering mess, but he had thanked her and told her how glad he was that she had liked them.  Alya had chosen that moment to cut in, informing him that her dad had had to tell her who the cookies were from.

 

“You forgot to sign your note, you dweeb,” she had grinned at him.  He had looked adorable as his eyes widened, a look of horror painting his features.

 

“No!” he had gasped.  He had turned back to her, looking remorseful.  “I didn’t, did I?”

 

…it wasn’t odd at all that she had brought the card with her to school.  It wasn’t like she had read it enough times to have it memorized or anything.  Pfft, no.  That would be crazy.

 

But he had immediately taken the card from her fingers when she had shown it to him, and after grabbing Alya’s pen had proceeded to sign the card.  He had handed it back to her with a grin and wink and said, “There!  Now you won’t forget who it’s from!”

 

Like that could ever happen.

 

The rest of the day had been pleasant, if relatively uneventful.  Alya had been relentless in her teasing, snickering over the “happy pile of mush” she had supposedly melted into after Adrien had signed the note (or, really, since the night before when she had received the cookies).  Adrien had even smiled at her before leaving with Nino for lunch.  (He was apparently avoiding his own home after some incident that had resulted in his father banning him from cooked food.  He had made a comment about eating gazpacho for a month, and Nino had looped an arm around his shoulders before saying, “Dude, you’re coming to my place for lunch, then.  I’m about to revolutionize your life with two words: _microwave burritos_.”  When she had asked Alya about it later, she had begun cackling and had barely managed to wheeze out, “Girl, do _not_ _even_ ask.”)

 

Patrol that night had even been quiet.  There hadn’t been a single sighting of an akuma or even any of the petty crimes Paris’s favorite superheroes had taken to aiding the cops in resolving.  So by the time Ladybug had met up with Chat Noir on the roof of Notre Dame, she was in a pretty spectacular mood.

 

So of course the dumb cat would have to go and ruin it.

 

“You seem happy, Milady,” Chat purred as she swung up onto the alcove they had long ago designated as their meeting place after patrols.  She rolled her eyes as she snapped her yoyo onto her hip and took a seat beside him, their legs dangling over the edge.

 

“I just had a very quiet patrol after a very good couple of days,” she said with a shrug.  “Of course I’m happy.”

 

“I’m glad,” he chuckled, lifting her hand to brush his lips against her knuckles.  “I like seeing you happy.”

 

“Easy, Tomcat,” she laughed, pushing him away before taking her hand back.  She looked out over the city, smiling as the lights glittered.  “So, all quiet on your end?”

 

“Thankfully,” he sighed.  “I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m glad for this little break Hawk Moth’s given us.  The past week has been a bit stressful in my civilian life, and his incessant attacks were not appreciated last week.”

 

“Poor kitty,” she hummed, reaching up to scratch behind his ears.  They twitched at the touch, and he grinned at her before reaching for something behind him.  Her fingers froze as she recognized the box from her parent’s bakery.

 

“That does remind me, though.  I have a _purr-_ esent for you,” he said, grinning at her as he held out the box.  She hesitated just long enough before taking it, but if he noticed he didn’t say anything.  “Don’t laugh, but I actually learned how to bake over the weekend.  A friend taught me, and…well, it’s a long story, but the batch ended up pink.  They looked so much like little ladybugs I couldn’t help myself.  I had to make you some, too, Milady.”

 

Her heart had stopped.

 

She was fairly certain her heart had actually stopped.

 

Her fingers were shaking as she opened the lid.  Inside, arranged perfectly atop the bakery paper, were twelve red chocolate chip cookies.  They were nearly identical to the pink ones Adrien had given her the previous day, except the color was darker.  And damn it all if he wasn’t right: they did look like ladybugs – but that wasn’t what was important here.

 

She was holding a box of red chocolate chip cookies.

 

Wrapped in a box from her family’s bakery.

 

Given to her by Chat Noir, who had just told her he made them after learning how to bake over the weekend – sorry, after _a friend had taught him_.

 

Exactly one day after Adrien had given her pink chocolate chip cookies.

 

After she had (inadvertently) taught _him_ how to bake.

 

And this batch had been made after Chat’s previous batch had been pink?

 

“Aren’t they _paws-_ itively _purr-_ fect, Milady?” Chat asked, and her eyes snapped up to stare at him in disbelief.  There was no way.  There was absolutely, positively _no freakin’ way_ …

 

How had it not clicked before?  If he combed his hair, lifting it up out of his eyes…his _green_ eyes, which would be so familiar if not for their cat-like features…even in spite of, really.  About the same height, when she thought about it.  Same build.  Same…

 

“Milady?” Chat asked, suddenly concerned.  He raised a hand, as if he wanted to place it on her shoulder or comfort her in some way, but he seemed uncertain.  “…are you…do you not like them?  Oh God, don’t tell me you’re gluten intolerant…”

 

She snorted, nearly dropping the box as her hand came up to clamp over her mouth.  It was too absurd, and for him to think she was allergic to gluten to boot?

 

“I-I…” she stammered.  Her eyes widened the longer she stared at him – the longer the similarities clicked into place, until suddenly she wasn’t seeing Chat Noir sitting in front of her.

 

She was seeing Adrien.

 

But that was impossible!  Chat Noir _could not be_ Adrien Agreste!  It was ludicrous!  Absurd!  Ridiculous!  Inconceivable, even, and she definitely knew what that word meant!  Chat Noir was NOT Adrien Agreste.  He just wasn’t!

 

…no matter what the cookies in her hands said.

 

“I love them!  Thank you!” she squeaked, her voice still high-pitched even muffled under her hand.  She gulped, cursing herself as she felt the familiar flush creeping up her neck.  His eyes widened, apparently noticing it himself, and she hastily stood and reached for her yoyo.  “S-sorry!  Have to go!”

 

“W-wait, Milady!” he cried, scrambling to his feet and reaching for her.  “What’s wrong?  I…what did I do?”

 

“ _Nothingyou’reperfectsorryleavingbugoutBYE!_ ” she screeched, throwing her yoyo out and disappearing into the night.  She heard his calls echoing after her, but she couldn’t go back.  She couldn’t…she was fairly certain she was hyperventilating as she landed on her balcony and dropped into her room.  She released her transformation in a rush, ignoring Tikki’s concerned questions as she crossed to her desk and placed Chat’s cookies next to Adrien’s.  And as much as her mind screamed against it, she couldn’t deny the proof: they were the same.  Different colored cookies, but the same in every respect that counted.  Closing the box, she noticed a quick note scrawled on the top of Chat’s box.

 

_LB,_

_It’s an honor saving Paris with you._

_Love,_

_CN_

 

She knew that handwriting.  She pulled Adrien’s card from her purse, glancing at it quickly before looking back to Chat’s box.

 

“T-Tikki…” she breathed, collapsing into her desk chair.  Tikki flew up beside her, pressing a tiny hand to her cheek.  “I…I…”

 

_It was impossible._


	7. In Which the Chat's Outta the Bag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually researched the history of puns for this. What the hell. I should also apologize to everyone who’s had to live through the Sandwich Joke because of this fic now. (“Why can’t a man starve in the Great Desert? Because of all the sand which is there! But where did the sandwiches come from, you ask? Well, Noah sent his son Ham, and his descendants mustered and bred!” Badum-tiss!)
> 
> Also, originally this was set up as an omake/epilogue and a two-part sequel would follow. However, the sequel just goes so well with everything I’m making it an eight-chapter romp. Why not. (Y’all are seriously the best. I’m loving how much y’all are loving this silliness.)

Adrien had been having a pretty good week – or at least weekend.

 

But the operative word there was _had_.  He _had_ been having a pretty good week.  Sitting at his desk Tuesday morning, waiting for Mademoiselle Bustier to arrive and begin class, he had to admit that he wasn’t really having the best week anymore.  And he couldn’t help but think it was, somehow, all his own fault – except he couldn’t figure out _how_.  Everything had been going great until the night before.

 

He had learned how to bake, after a…minor hiccough.  He had successfully baked cookies, and Marinette had loved them.  He had experienced the wonder that was a microwave burrito, thanks to Nino.  (He had also enjoyed the ear-piercing shriek that had rung out through his home when he had asked his personal chef if he could have more microwave burritos instead of the thousand and one variations of gazpacho he had been promised when his father had banned him from any food requiring a stove or oven to cook for a month.)  Patrol had been a breeze.  And then he had given Ladybug her cookies, and she had promptly bugged out.

 

It just didn’t make any sense!  He had been certain she would love the cookies – that she would be amused by the little ladybugs he had given her – but, much to his consternation, she had seemed to hate them.  But he didn’t understand why!  Didn’t everyone love cookies?  What was so horrible with them?  Was it because he had made them for her?  Marinette hadn’t seemed to complain about the taste, and even Monsieur Dupain had praised them as an excellent batch for his first try.  So then why had Ladybug reacted like he had just given her a vat of toxic sludge?

 

He groaned as Nino arrived, slumping forward and hitting his forehead against the desk.

 

“…dude, you ok?” Nino asked, pausing before he sat down.  “Your chef didn’t poison you last night, did he?  You know some vegetables do have to be cooked before you eat them.”

 

“I’m not poisoned,” he grumbled, and Nino shrugged before plopping down.  “Just…rough night.”

 

“I feel that, bro,” Nino laughed.  “Ready for your presentation?”

 

Ironically, that was the one thing he _wasn’t_ worried about.  He grunted in affirmation, but before Nino could respond his friend’s attention had been drawn to the door.  He called out a greeting, and Adrien peeked out from the nest he had made of his arms to see Alya and Marinette arriving.  Upon seeing him, Marinette had frozen.  Her eyes had shot open, her face had turned an almost sickly shade of red, and the hand that wasn’t looped around Alya’s arm had begun twitching.  Alya jerked back when Marinette stopped moving, and it took a few moments before she could cajole the girl into walking again.  He frowned when she walked right past him, averting her eyes and muttering a rushed _good morning_ before sitting down behind him.  He turned and raised an eyebrow at her, but she was hiding behind her backpack.

 

_What the hell?_

 

He shot a desperate look to Alya and Nino, but their friends only shrugged as they glanced at Marinette.  From the looks of things, they were back to where they were his very first day of school, back when she hated him because she thought he was booby-trapping her seat.  He sighed, hanging his head.  They had been making such great progress, too…

 

“Good morning, Marinette,” he tried, giving her his best smile despite his lousy mood and her odd actions.  She glanced over her backpack at him, and he felt a chill race down his spine.  Her eyes were narrowed, and she was studying him like she was looking for something.  He raised an eyebrow at her, and as if she was only just realizing how rude she was being she squeaked and dove behind her backpack again.

 

“Girl,” Alya said gently as she placed a hand against her back.  “What on earth has gotten into you?”

 

“Yeah, you ok?” Nino piped up, and Adrien frowned as he reached around her backpack to place a hand on her arm.  He couldn’t help but notice how she stiffened under his touch.

 

“Did…did I do something to upset you, Marinette?” he asked uncertainly.  He thought he heard her gulp as she peeked out from her bag again.  In lieu of a verbal answer, she violently shook her head and dove back behind her bag.  He looked back at the other two, who still looked about as stumped as he felt.

 

Seriously.  What the ever-loving hell?

 

He wanted to question her further, to try and coax some kind of answer or positive response from his friend, but before he had the chance Mademoiselle Bustier walked in and called the class to order.  He sighed and turned around, shooting a helpless look to Nino once his back was facing Marinette.  Nino shrugged before pulling out his tablet, and after another moment Adrien followed suit.

 

The morning was uneventful, which didn’t really help his mood.  He was almost hoping for an akuma attack – at least that way he would see Ladybug and (hopefully) sort out whatever had happened with her.  Or at the very least get a chance to escape the prickling feeling of Marinette’s stare on the back of his head all day.  Even during second period, when Mademoiselle Bustier had handed out a history quiz and he’d had to pass the stack back to Marinette, she had continued to stare at him as she took the papers.  There was something accusatory in her stare, tinged with a slight hesitation.  _I’m on to you,_ the look seemed to say.  … _I think._

 

But what had he done?  What was with the sudden third degree?  He tried smiling at her again, but Mademoiselle Bustier called for him to turn around and the look he ended up giving her was more defeated than anything else.

 

Presentations started not long after that, and from the looks Nino kept giving him and the tingling on his neck he was fairly certain Marinette had resumed her stare-down.  As Chloé began some asinine spiel about eyeshadow, he caught Alya’s concerned whisper: “Mari, seriously, what’s gotten into you?  I know you like the guy, but this is less of your usual cognitive meltdown and more along the lines of Dingoes Ate My Baby crazy.  Tone down the Stalker Stare to like fifty, would you?”

 

…wait, _what?!_

 

His back was suddenly rigid, and he shot a panicked look at Nino.  Nino’s eyes were about as wide as he felt his own must be as he shot a horrified look back to his girlfriend.  The girls, however, apparently were either not paying attention or felt they were being quiet enough.

 

“I’m not…so not the time, Alya!” Marinette hissed back.

 

“You were making _progress_ , girl!  You’ve been swooning over those cookies since Sunday – what happened last night to make you bug out so bad?” Alya hissed, and Adrien’s eyes narrowed as polite applause signified the end of Chloé’s speech.  As Juleka made her way up to set up her PowerPoint, Marinette ended her conversation with Alya.

 

“I’m not _bugging out_ , Alya,” she hissed.  “I’m…look, we’ll talk at lunch, ok?”

 

“This is so not done,” Alya muttered darkly, but when Adrien glanced back at her she was slumped back in her seat with her arms folded over her chest.  She rolled her eyes before looking back to Juleka, her eyes glancing over him for a moment before their classmate began her speech.

 

He honestly didn’t even remember what Juleka or Kim talked about, and the next think he knew Mademoiselle Bustier was calling him up to the front.  Nino gave him an encouraging thumbs up, but as soon as he had his PowerPoint open and had looked up to face the class, his eyes caught Marinette and any confidence left him.  She still had that Stare on her face, the one that made him feel like he was being examined under a microscope.  He sighed and closed his eyes, collecting himself before slapping his Model Grin on and starting his presentation.  Besides, there was nothing he could do about Marinette (or Ladybug) at that moment.

 

“If I asked you guys what _paronomasia_ is, who would know what I was talking about?” he asked, looking out over his classmates.  He was met with blank stares, and his grin grew as he tapped a button on a keyboard.  The subtitle of his presentation appeared, and a collective groan met his ears.

 

_Paronomasia: A Punderful Form of Comedy_

 

“Paronomasia is just a fancy way of saying puns!” he elaborated, grin still in place.  Even though they had all known it was coming, from the corner of his eye he saw Nino slap his forehead, Alya snort, and Marinette…he almost frowned.  It had been her _eye-_ dea, but somehow the title screen had only made her eyes grow wider in something akin to horror, and he might have been mistaken but he was fairly certain he saw her eyebrow twitch.  “Technically, it refers to a form of wordplay that suggests two or more meanings by exploiting the words’ multiple meanings or similar sounds for a humorous or rhetorical effect, but we usually just refer to it as punning.  Literary critic John Dryden referred to puns as the ‘lowest and most groveling kind of wit’, and while some of you may agree with him, puns are actually taken fairly seriously in comedic circles.  There have been books written on the art and history of proper puns, and there’s even a world championship called the Pun-Off.  In the United States, there was even a presidential speech-writer who had ‘World Pun Champion’ on his résumé.”

 

He could see Nino hissing _“Abort!  Abort!”_ through his cupped hands, but Mademoiselle Bustier was hiding a smile behind her hand as he clicked to the next slide.

 

“That same speech-writer, John Pollack, actually credits puns as a fundamental concept behind many alphabets, writing systems, and even human civilization.  In fact, I think our teacher would be interested to learn that Sumerian cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphs are based on punning systems,” he said, shooting a smirk at Mademoiselle Bustier, who nodded in approval.  The next few minutes went by in a bit of a blur.  For the convenience of time, had had only planned to tell the class about the five most common types of puns.  Each type was accompanied by a handful of examples, and by the end of his speech he actually had most of the class laughing.  When Mademoiselle Bustier gave him the wrap-up signal, he raised his hands and gave the class an easy smile.

 

“Ok, ok,” he said.  “That’s all I’ve got.  Thanks for putting up with these cheesy jokes – I know they can be a bit _grating_ ,” he said.  A few snickers scattered through the room, and he clicked onto his final slide with a smirk.  A picture of a winking black cat giving a paws-up sign was the only thing on the slide.  “But, as I hope you can now see, puns really are a _paws_ -itively _purr_ -fect form of comedy!”

 

The response to his final pun was…mixed, at best.  There was a collective groan interrupted by more snickers and laughs, but above it all what caught Adrien’s attention was a loud, distinct _snap_ coming from Marinette’s desk – specifically, the pencil that was now held broken in her tightened fist.  Alya was gawking at her, probably because that particular feather-tipped pencil was one _she_ had given her, but Marinette was pale.  Her eyes had snapped open as if she had finally figured out what had been bugging her all morning, and she didn’t look pleased at the conclusion.  She looked like she had seen a ghost, or like some foul-smelling creature had just passed by her.  He frowned as he closed his PowerPoint.  Mademoiselle Bustier thanked him for an amusing presentation, and he absently nodded as he returned to his seat.  Marinette sounded like she was hyperventilating.

 

“Marinette, what is with you?!” Alya hissed, and as soon as Mademoiselle Bustier dismissed them for lunch he turned to address his friend.  Only he never got the chance, as as soon as he was facing her she had grabbed her bag and literally sprinted from the room.  Alya shouted after her, groaning as she grabbed her own bag and chased after her, and Nino sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

 

“Guess it’s just us for lunch today,” his friend sighed, but Adrien wasn’t really paying attention.  He glanced at him quickly before returning his gaze to the door the girls had fled from.

 

“Nino…” he asked, pausing as he bit his lower lip.  “My speech wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?”

 

“Oh, yeah, dude, it was bad,” Nino laughed, grabbing his bag as he stood.  “You could say it was…a _pun_ -plete disaster.”

 

His nose wrinkled at Nino’s lame attempt at a pun, and he shook his head as he grabbed his own bag and followed Nino out of the room.  He put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, saying, “Dude…leave the puns to the professionals.  You’re awful.”

 

“But ya’ still love me!” Nino chirped, shooting him finger guns, and Adrien rolled his eyes.  “Come on.  Let’s see if we can catch up to the girls.  I could murder a burrito right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all know how it is when you’ve had a kinda sucky week/end at work, the last chapter was kinda short, and the readers are just so awesome you want to do a double update? Yeah, I’m feeling that right now. Y’all rock. <3


	8. In Which Marinette Can('t) Model

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was weeding out my gardens yesterday, and while I was fighting with a particularly nasty dandelion root a ladybug decided to hang out with me. I kept trying to move her so she didn’t get smooshed in the chaos (it was a really tough root), but she kept crawling up my arm. Ladybugs are pretty common ‘round here – they’re our state bug, after all – but it was kinda cool. C:

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had been avoiding Adrien Agreste for four days, three hours, and forty-six minutes.

 

When class had let out for lunch on Tuesday afternoon, she had proceeded to bolt from the room without any kind of excuse before Adrien had even had a chance to speak with her.  Her mind was a whirlwind, and she had considered faking ill in order to skip the remainder of her classes (and, subsequently, avoid seeing him the rest of the day).  There was no faking it when she actually did run into the bakery and straight to the bathroom, where her mom had stood by the door in concern as she retched into the toilet.  She had insisted she go straight to bed, and after a quick text to let Alya know she wouldn’t be returning she had taken cover in her room.

 

That hadn’t really helped, as everywhere she looked laughing green eyes looked back at her.  Laughing green eyes that seemed to mock the fact that she hadn’t pieced it all together sooner.

 

Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir.

 

Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste.

 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng loved Adrien Agreste.

 

QED Marinette Dupain-Cheng loved Chat Noir.

 

And, apparently, that little factoid made her physically sick.

 

(She wasn’t even letting herself consider anything beyond that, like the fact that Chat Noir loved Ladybug, and she was Ladybug, and Chat Noir was Adrien, so double QED Adrien loved her.  Which was only made worse by the fact that _she loved Adrien_ and _Adrien loved her_ and _neither of them had freakin’ realized it_.  Yes, she was definitely physically ill at the mess.  One day, they’d probably laugh about it all as they told their three kids while the hamster nibbled snacks in the background, but today it just made her sick.)

 

She had plopped herself down in her pink swivel chair and gawked at the perfect face looking back at her, trying to reconcile the boy she (thought) she knew so well with the Chat she (technically, definitely) also knew so well.  The two identities could not resolve themselves in her mind, but the proof was there in the red-tinted chocolate chip cookies and terrible cat puns.

 

Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir.

 

She hadn’t been sure of how long she sat there, trying to reconcile her crush with her not-as-big-but-definitely-still-Something (after all, she had once told Tikki she would have given Chat a chance if not for Adrien) when her phone chimed.  She glanced at the screen, her eyebrows furrowing as she read Alya’s text.

 

_u can thnk me later_

_p.s. u still owe me!_

 

Not a minute later, her mom was knocking on her door.  She poked her head up, a soft smile on her face.

 

“Honey?  You up for a visitor?” she asked, and Marinette was about to ask who when the head of none other than Adrien Agreste popped up beside her mom.

 

Adrien Agreste.

 

Who was Chat Noir.

 

Whose face was plastered all over her walls (Adrien’s, not Chat’s – but the grinning black cat on her desk was damning enough!).

 

Who was smiling at her with such open concern that she couldn’t exactly remember why she was freaking out so bad.

 

Except then she could.

 

Because he was Chat Noir.

 

And his face was all over her walls.

 

And she hadn’t had adequate warning, so his face was _still_ plastered all over her walls.

 

“A-A-Adrien!” she squeaked, kicking back so forcefully her chair crashed into her desk.  She winced as she heard something topple over, and both her mom and Adrien frowned at her.  Her mom gave him a quick nod before he stepped into her room and she disappeared back downstairs.  He held up a stack of papers for her.

 

“Alya said you weren’t feeling well, so I thought I’d bring by the notes and homework from the afternoon classes,” he said.  “I hope you’re feeling better?  You seemed kinda…”  Hostile?  Antisocial?  Whackadoo?  “…upset this morning, but I guess that makes sense if you weren’t feeling well.”

 

When had he gotten so close?

 

She bit her lip, her face feeling like it was on fire, as she reached out to take the papers.  His hand caught hers, and her breath hitched in her throat.

 

“Are you feeling better, Mari?” he asked, and she gulped and slowly shook her head.  He frowned and squeezed her hand.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  I hope you’re feeling better by tomorrow.”

 

“Th-thanks,” she squeaked, and he had offered her another smile before releasing her hand.

 

“Well, I guess I should let you rest…” he said, glancing back to the door.  His eyes caught on something above her head, and she inwardly cursed as they widened a little.  She knew he had to have seen the pictures, but of course he was too kind to say anything about it when he looked back at her.  “Um…if you’re not better tomorrow, I can bring my notes again.  You know.  So you don’t fall behind.”

 

She squeaked out another thanks, and then he was gone.

 

And while she had seriously considered feigning sick the next day as well, she had managed to get herself together and make her way to school.  She had slid into her seat a good fifteen minutes before class actually started, which maybe hadn’t been the best move as Alya had proceeded to grill her over her freakout the day prior.

 

It didn’t help when Adrien arrived and gave her that dazzling smiling, inquiring if she was better.  Her voice had failed her, and she only managed a tiny nod before diving back behind her backpack.  She had peeked out in time to catch the concerned look he gave Nino, who just shrugged, before Alya jabbed a finger into her side and hissed, “Girl, _what gives_?  You’re giving me whiplash from all your mood swings!”

 

The rest of the week hadn’t fared much better.  She had done everything she could to avoid spending time with Adrien, claiming responsibilities at the bakery, ducking out of class before Alya and Nino could rope them into some group outing, or just outright bolting when he attempted to approach her.  She knew she was frustrating him – Alya had told her as much, as apparently he had been venting to her and Nino over Marinette’s sudden, stranger-than-normal behavior – but every time she saw him she panicked.  That one thought – _Adrien is Chat Noir_ – lingered in the background, and Marinette could not cope.

 

On the other side of the mask, Ladybug had also been avoiding Chat Noir for maybe eight hours longer than Marinette had been avoiding Adrien.

 

It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part, either.  While they had been fortunate enough that no one had been akumatized during that time, Tikki had informed her almost daily that Chat Noir had been trying to reach her.  She had steadfastly refused to transform and answer the call, and with every missive Tikki informed her Chat’s messages were getting more desperate.

 

It only added to her guilt as Marinette, as she could see the effect her avoidance was having on Adrien when he thought no one was looking.  He seemed distracted at best.  Broken-hearted at worst.  She knew it was her fault, that any pain he was feeling was because he had lost both a friend as a civilian and his partner as a superhero, and it was all because of a stupid box of cookies.

 

This carried on for about four days.

 

When she awoke the Saturday after her mind had imploded from the realization that _Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir_ , she had almost been relieved that – barring unforeseen intervention courtesy Hawk Moth (though, really, when was his intervention ever foreseen?) – she would not have to actively avoid Adrien that day.  In fact, as there was no school, she had absolutely no reason to cross paths with the model.  To make matters even better, her parents had a relatively light order load and would not be needing her assistance in the bakery.  It was the perfect excuse to decompress and deal with the fact that _the love of her life is her annoying, pun-slinging partner in crime fighting_.

 

Which had ultimately led her to the park near her home, sitting on the same bench where she had once shared a pie with Adrien.  She hadn’t lasted an hour in her room before realizing that, with the pictures of Adrien staring at her from almost every visible surface, she wasn’t going to make any progress there.  So she had staked out a nice, shady bench, hoping the fresh air would help clear her head.  Her sketchbook was open on her lap, but she hadn’t actually drawn anything for a while.  Her eyes just slid over the landscape, not really seeing anything as her mind continued to spiral.  She knew she would have to face him soon (he deserved that much – better, really), but –

 

“You there!  Pretty girl!”

 

She jumped at the accented voice, and she looked up to see Adrien’s photographer – Vincent, wasn’t it? – walking towards her.  Adrien was a short distance behind him, smiling sheepishly and waving.  He looked equal parts hopeful and horrified, as if he wanted nothing more than for her to come over there but was also dreading that very same thing.  Vincent stopped in front of her and gave her the widest smile she had seen all week.  Though considering the tension she had been throwing on her group of friends lately, that feat wouldn’t be too hard.

 

“Y-yes?” she stammered, and Vincent’s smile grew impossibly wider as he snatched up her hand.

 

“Could you help us, I wonder?” he asked.  “Monsieur Adrien’s partner has tragically found herself unable to attend the shoot, and we are in desperate need of a partner.  You and Adrien are friends, yes?  You will help us with the shoot?”

 

“I-I…w-what?!” she squeaked, glancing over to Adrien to find him jogging over to them.

 

“Hey, Marinette!” he said, smiling nervously.  His eyes skittered away from her a moment before glancing back, his nerves still clear on his face.  She was reminded of her earlier thought: that he wanted her to say yes but knew – especially after the past week – that she would say no.  “I hope you don’t mind, it’s just…well, you’re here, and you’d be perfect for the shoot, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask?”

 

“I…I…” she tried, her eyes darting between Adrien and Vincent, and somehow she found herself saying: “…ok?”

 

“That’s so great!  Thanks so much, Marinette!” Adrien gushed, and when he smiled like that she couldn’t remember why she had been avoiding him all week.  He reached for her hand and pulled her up, and damn it all if she still didn’t blush at the contact.  “I was hoping you’d say yes…y’know, I’ve missed you this week.  I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

 

He meant it as a joke, she knew – he had to have, with the way he dipped his head and grinned at her.  It wasn’t a very good one, as they both knew damn well she had definitely been avoiding him.  Still, she laughed, a high-pitched, nervous sound, and waved him off.

 

“Me?  Avoid you?” she quipped.  “N-never.”

 

His smile was a bit tense as he squeezed her hand, and the look he gave her told her he knew she was lying.  He never had the chance to call her bluff, though, as Vincent quickly led her over to a tent set up for makeup and wardrobe.  By the time he explained that it was a couple’s shoot, it was too late to back out.  Vincent left her in the “capable hands” of Venia and Octavia (she had shot him a look at their names, but he had waved her off as if it was nothing) before whisking Adrien away, stating they would get his solo shots done while she got ready.

 

“Are…are those your actual names?” she asked, glancing at the brunette twins in charge of making her look like an acceptable model.  The one in yellow giggled as she pulled a jacket from a rack of clothes.

 

“Vince thinks he’s clever,” she said with a wink.  “I’m Jennie, and my sister’s name is Claudia.”

 

Jennie and Claudia turned out to be wonderful.  Like Vincent, they had been working with Adrien for years.  They were delighted to meet one of his school friends (they had met Nino and Alya a few times, of course, and she was delighted to learn neither of them were fond of Chloé), and both were all too eager to share some of Adrien’s more embarrassing modelling  stories.  While Marinette was thrilled to learn of this new side to Adrien, she had been hesitant at first – until they had waved her off and insisted that every model could do being knocked down a peg or two – even the practically perfect Adrien Agreste.  When she still seemed uncertain, Jennie had taken her hands in her own and said, “Honey, I saw how that boy was looking at you.  If anyone deserves the stories, I got a feeling it’s you.”

 

Claudia had gushed over how adorable her subsequent blush was, and for a moment Marinette imagined they were what it was like to have sisters.  By the time they spun her towards the full-body mirror in the corner, her breath caught in her throat.  She knew she was attractive.  While she didn’t think she was any great beauty, she knew enough to know that much.  As she studied her appearance, though, she had to admit that she looked _good_.

 

“This is from Monsieur Agreste’s upcoming summer line,” Jennie said, pulling a beret off a rack.  She glanced at Marinette’s hair, which she had done up in a stylish bun, and frowned.  “You know what?  I like your hair like that.  Claudia, I’m damn proud of that hair – if the magazine wants this hat that bad, they can put a damn insert of it in the spread.”

 

“Venia!  Octavia!  Is she ready yet?” Vincent called from outside the tent, and Claudia gave her a wink before shoving her out the flap.

 

“Of course!  Behold, my latest masterpiece!” she crowed, and Marinette did her best not to stumble in the wedge sandals she’d been placed in as Claudia brought her over to Vincent and Adrien.  Vincent immediately began singing her praises, but she was much more interested in the dumbstruck look Adrien was giving her.  Claudia winked at her and patted Adrien’s shoulder sympathetically.

 

“Jaw up, Adrien – you’ll start drooling, and Lord knows I don’t want to hear about how you’ve ruined the shoot samples,” she said.  Adrien’s mouth snapped shut so forcibly Marinette was sure she heard his teeth clack, and when Claudia shot her another wink Marinette bit her lip as she tried not to giggle.

 

“You look amazing, Mari,” Adrien said after an awkward moment, and her smile felt much more natural at the compliment – even if her face did feel significantly warmer.  She knew Jennie and Claudia had worked magic, but to hear Adrien validate it – especially when he was surrounded by professional beauties on a daily basis – definitely made her feel good.

 

“I’ll need a few solo shots of you, Marinette,” Vincent said.  “Venia!  Do you have the other tops ready?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Jennie called, appearing with a peach-colored jacket and two other shirts.

 

As much as Marinette wanted to help Adrien out, it quickly became apparent that she was more comfortable on the designing side of the fashion world.  Vincent tried everything: he posed her by the fountain, by trees, on a bench, and walking down the path; he encouraged her with thoughts of mama’s spaghetti and papa’s caprese; he even commanded she act natural, thinking he could coax out the ‘pretty girl’ he first spotted on the park bench.  Nothing seemed to work, and Marinette was discouraged to learn she was all awkward grins and stiff angles.

 

“No, no, no!  This is not working!” Vincent moaned, slapping his hand on his forehead.  She glanced behind him and caught Adrien’s eye.  She mouthed an apology at him, but he only sent her a wink before he pulled the oddest face she could imagine.  His cheeks puffed out, his eyes crossed, and…she snorted.  Her hands came up to clamp over her mouth as Vincent’s eyes popped open, but Adrien just winked at her before pulling another face.  It was ridiculous, and certainly something she never would have pictured coming from Adrien Agreste – but the action screamed Chat, and it was so endearing Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.  And just like that, her awkwardness was gone.  Three wardrobe changes later, Vincent was shoving Adrien towards her.

 

“Now, I want you to hold hands and walk around the fountain, like you are on a date,” he instructed.  Marinette bit her lip and glanced up at Adrien, who smiled easily at her as he held his hand out.  When she still hesitated, he wiggled his fingers and grinned.

 

“Promise I don’t bite,” he said jokingly, and she almost rolled her eyes as she placed her hand in his.  There was a quip about feral cats on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back and gave him a smile.  He gave her fingers an encouraging squeeze as he started to lead her around the fountain, and she swore she felt her face flush.  From how Vincent was suddenly cheering about how ‘perfect’ and ‘adorable’ they looked, she was fairly certain she had.  Adrien squeezed her hand again and tipped his head closer to hers.  “You’re doing great, Mari.”

 

“Yes, exactly!  You are young!  You are in love!  You are on a date!” Vincent cheered, oblivious to any conversation they might be having.  Marinette shyly smiled up at him, and when he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

 

“Sorry about him,” he whispered to her.  “He’s…a little eccentric.”

 

“At least he’s not cheering about _Mama’s spaghetti_ anymore,” Marinette whispered back, and Adrien almost snorted as he dipped his head lower.

 

“Oh, just wait for it…” he whispered, and his breath against her ear caused shivers to chase down her spine.  He squeezed her hand again and mouthed a countdown: _One…two…three…_

 

“Yes, yes!  You are meeting his parents, and Mama has just brought out a big plate of spaghetti!  You want the spaghetti as much as you want him!  You…!” Vincent cried, and Marinette nearly choked on her laughter as he continued to shout about how much she wanted that spaghetti.  She brought her free hand up to cover her mouth, and Adrien grinned at her as he tossed her a wink.

 

“Good ol’ Mama and her spaghetti,” he quipped, and she found herself leaning against his shoulder as she continued to laugh.  If he looked at all pleased by the development, she was too lost in her giggles to notice.  The giggles cut off in a gasp, though, when Adrien again dipped his head towards her.  “You know…you have a really pretty laugh.  And the way you smile every time…you could be a model.”

 

“I thought that’s what I was today,” she joked, and he laughed as he pulled her into a hug.  She froze at the sudden gesture, but Vincent went nuts.  Everything about the embrace was familiar and safe, and Marinette wondered how she had never noticed it before – though it wasn’t like Adrien had ever really had an excuse to hug her before then.  She found her eyes closing as she leaned into the embrace, and she sucked in a breath when his lips came into contact with her hair.

 

“You’re the best,” he chuckled, and all too soon he pulled away to drag her towards the carousel, their hands still firmly latched together.  As Vincent led them through pose after pose, she found herself relaxing more and more.  Adrien did everything he could to make her comfortable, joking and pulling faces whenever necessary, and Marinette couldn’t believe she had spent the past week avoiding him.  They had been classmates, friends – and, as it turned out, partners.  She was starting to realize just how much she missed him when Vincent’s voice broke through their antics again.

 

“Ok, perfect!  Now, hold her close – he is your Chat Noir, and he has just saved you from a terrifying monster!  Rawr!” Vincent cheered, diving to the side as he clicked away at his camera.

 

And that, somehow, was all she needed for the fact that Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir to cement itself in her mind.  The polite, sometimes-awkward, always kind boy reconciled himself with the dashing, debonair, overly-flirtatious superhero she trusted with her life – and suddenly she didn’t know how it could have ever been anyone else.  Adrien was Chat, and Chat was Adrien, and she…couldn’t be happier.

 

So when Adrien pulled her back against his chest and tightened his arms around her, peeking over her shoulder to look at her with his best Chat-like Smolder (and oh, what a Smolder it was), all she could do…was laugh.  Joy bubbled up from deep inside her, the laughter tumbling from her lips in mirthful waves as she collapsed against him.  She was barely aware of the excited cries of Vincent, of the incessant clicking of his camera, because Adrien was Chat and Chat was in love with Ladybug and Ladybug was Marinette and Marinette was in love with Adrien and good God, could they be any more of a soap opera?  But it was ok – it was perfect – because she loved Adrien and Adrien loved her.  He just didn’t know it yet.

 

“Gee, thanks,” he whispered in her ear, and the shivers it caused to chase down her spine only made her laugh harder.  “Way to make me feel like a great Chat Noir.”

 

Oh, but he was, and that was the beauty of it.

 

“I’m so sorry, _Chaton_ ,” she whispered as she attempted to control herself, the pealing laughter subsiding into hiccoughing giggles.  She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek, turning her head to smile up at him.  His eyes had grown wide, and she was pleased to see that he was practically gawking at her.  Suddenly, she found she wasn’t nervous around him at all – she was even brazen enough to _bat her eyes_ at him.  Because it wasn’t Adrien gawking down at her: it was Chat, her kitty, and for the first time since she had known him she felt completely at ease with welcoming his affections.  With returning them, even.  Because _Adrien was Chat_ , and wasn’t that just perfect?  “I never did thank you for the cookies, by the way.  I loved the red ones.”

 

His eyes grew impossibly wide, his breath sucking in in a quick gasp, and she beamed as she leaned up to press her lips against his cheek.

 

“PERFECT!” Vincent cried, clicking furiously.  Adrien was frozen as she pulled away from the kiss, her hands squeezing his own from where they held her waist as she leaned back against him.  She smiled for the camera, and Vincent crowed over how beautiful and perfect and in love they looked.  She made a mental note to ask him for copies of the photos later – from the way she felt Adrien’s throat move as he gulped, she was sure they’d be epic.


	9. In Which Things are Wrapped Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE ACTUAL END I PROMISE. Because while I should have ended this with Adrien floundering like Marinette did in ch6, there was a certain feeling of incompleteness that just didn’t sit right with me. (Honestly, with how I’ve been playing things, this whole fic has felt like Cole Swindell’s “Middle Of A Memory”. “Right when I was just about to lean on in – why’d you have to go then?” I’m all for readers filling in their own blanks, but I was getting a little mean.)

Ladybug had been avoiding Chat Noir for four days, eleven hours, and forty-six minutes.

 

Chat Noir was painfully aware of this, as her avoidance – and really, what else could he call it by this point – seemed to stem from his gift of homemade chocolate chip cookies.  Chocolate chip cookies that he had dyed red to look like little ladybugs, which he had – at the time – thought she would find endearing.  Which, despite her immediate protests upon receiving them, she apparently had not as she had immediately hightailed it outta there in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between them as possible.  Plagg had found no end of amusement in this, but upon seeing the distress the debacle had caused his charge he had immediately reminded him that Marinette, at least, had loved the cookies.

 

…except he had arrived at school the next morning to find out that, apparently, she hadn’t.

 

Adrien would be the first to admit that his relationship with Marinette had not been the easiest.  Their first meeting had been marred by Chloé’s antics, and while he had apologized and thought he had amended the misunderstanding, for the longest time he had believed she still disliked him.  He had eventually changed that theory to thinking maybe he just intimidated her: after all, he was the son of her career idol Gabriel Agreste, and while he considered himself harmless enough the clout that came with the Agreste name would be intimidating to anybody – especially if that somebody respected (feared) his father.  So he had done everything he could think of to make himself appear more approachable, friendlier.  And while he had been slightly envious of how carefree and open she seemed with her friends, he hadn’t given up hope that maybe one day she would consider him among that count.  His patience had seemed to be paying off, too.  There were still times she would stutter and fumble around him, but on the general whole they seemed to be getting closer – especially after Nino and Alya had started dating, forcing them into more social interactions.  And even before that, when they had spent an afternoon playing Mecha Strike or the day he had acted as translator for her Chinese uncle…he had thought they were making progress.

 

And then that stupid presentation.

 

And he just had to make her cookies.

 

And, after seeing how well the pink cookies turned out, he just had to make Ladybug cookies, too.

 

He found it ironic that cookies, a treat he loved and thought was universally adored, had been the cause of the destruction of his life.

 

Marinette had given him the third degree the entire morning of his presentation, her mood only seeming to worsen as he told the class about puns and dished out some of his favorites.  He had had every intention to question her when Mademoiselle Bustier had dismissed for lunch, but before he could even turn around she had fled the room.  She failed to return for evening classes, but before he could consider his opportunity at rectifying whatever slight he had committed lost Alya had shoved a stack of papers at him.

 

“I’m stuck with babysitting duty tonight,” she had said.  “Take these to Mari for me?  Notes and homework.  Thanks, A!”

 

But when Madame Cheng – Sabine, as she had insisted on being called – showed him to Marinette’s room, his poor friend had still found herself unable to talk to him.  He was willing to write her odd behavior off as the illness, as she had claimed she still wasn’t feeling well.  So maybe it hadn’t been his cookies after all, and he had wished her well before making his leave.

 

That had been the last he had seen of her all week.

 

Well, he had _seen_ her, but it wasn’t like she had actually spoken to him.  And it wasn’t for lack of trying!  He greeted her every morning, attempted to invite her to every lunch, and had even tried to coax her into joining Nino, Alya, and him at a new arcade that had opened.  Every invite was spurned with some quickly muttered excuse (or outright dismissal, as by the end of the week she had taken to simply running whenever he looked her way), and he was trying his best not to be hurt by it all.  Nino had insisted she was just going through something and he needed to give her time, but it was hard.  It would have been easier, he thought, if Ladybug had been more responsive, but things were also bleak on the masked end of his life.  While he was grateful there hadn’t been any akuma attacks, she had refused to answer any of his calls (and he was slightly ashamed to admit there had been many).  By the time Friday night and their second weekly patrol rolled around, all he had heard from her was a quick message – relayed by Plagg, no less! – that she wasn’t feeling well and would be grateful if he could handle patrol on his own.

 

He was beginning to wonder if the superstitions about black cats and bad luck really did hold any merit.

 

By the time Saturday arrived, he was almost grateful his father had packed his schedule so full he wouldn’t really have a chance to dwell (he was _not_ moping, no matter what Plagg said!) on Ladybug’s dismissal or Marinette’s avoidance – until he had arrived at the park across from the school to find her sketching on a bench.  He hadn’t been able to help the initial excitement upon seeing her – or the nerves that immediately washed it away.  He had waved at her, but she was lost in her work and failed to notice him – or at least pretended not to.  He honestly couldn’t be sure which by this point.

 

He had gone through the motions of preparing for the shoot: dressing in the clothes Jennie handed him, allowing Claudia to tease his hair and apply more makeup than any male should comfortably wear, and awaiting Vincent’s spaghetti-crazed rantings as he posed for picture after picture.  He was lounging on the fountain, completely lost to whatever Vincent was stressing over that time as he surreptitiously (or not so surreptitiously, Plagg would be keen to point out) watched Marinette.  And when Vincent began screeching about Hazel and how irresponsible she was to fly off to Milan when she _knew_ she had a prior engagement, he saw an opportunity.

 

“Hey, Vince,” he had called, drawing his photographer’s attention.  When Vincent arched a perfectly manicured brow at him, he pointed over to the bench.  “Could…I dunno, maybe Mari could help out?”

 

Hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the best idea.  Maybe he should have considered Marinette’s shyness.  Maybe he should have considered she would be uncomfortable in front of a camera like that.  Maybe he should have remembered she had been avoiding him like the _Plagg_ -ue all week and might not actually want to help him with anything – but, unfortunately, that had been exactly what he had been thinking about.  It had been all he had been thinking about all week: how he had, with one box of cookies (ok, technically two), lost both his Princess and his Lady.  He would have done just about anything for a chance to talk to either of them, even if it meant manipulating Marinette’s natural kindness and willingness to help out anyone in need.

 

Even knowing that, that she would never turn down a friend in need (even if the friend – a term he was sure he had to use loosely – was him), he had still been amazed when she had agreed.

 

And it had all gone…surprisingly well.  Sure, she had been nervous at first – but maybe, really, so had he.  She had been stiff and awkward, all of her smiles appearing forced and never quite reaching her eyes.  Vincent had been frustrated, and it wasn’t until Adrien had started pulling faces at her that she finally relaxed enough to laugh and just go with it.  Everything was so effortless from there, or at least it had been until Vincent had sent him towards her to get some of the couple shots.  Even then she had only hesitated for a moment, but once they had been in the relative privacy of the other side of the camera and had actually been able to talk…

 

He wasn’t above admitting he had missed her during the week.  She had opened up to him over the last year, and he had grown fond of her.  She was a close friend, and the sudden way she had shunned him had hurt.  And then Vincent had to go and ruin it all – or, maybe…actually, maybe he had fixed it all.

 

Chat Noir landed on the roof across from the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery with a soft _thud_.  He sighed heavily, his head dropping as he recalled the exact moment when everything had…he wasn’t sure what had happened, actually.  One minute he was joking with his friend, posing for pictures while his eccentric photographer cheered around them, and the next…Vincent had told her to think of him as Chat Noir, and Marinette had started laughing.  And then she was calling him _Chaton_ – something only Ladybug called him – and thanking him for the _red_ cookies, not the pink, and to make everything worse – _better_ – she had kissed him!  On the cheek, but it was still a kiss!

 

And, like the idiot he was, he had just stood there as Vincent called a wrap and she skipped out of his arms – _ohmyGodhadheactuallybeenholdingLadybuglikethat?!_ – to speak with the photographer.  He had continued to stand there, gawking after her, as Jennie took her back to the tent to change.  Claudia was dragging him past her when she emerged, and he remembered forgetting how to breathe when she winked at him and said she’d see him later.

 

And then she was gone, and now it was later, and he…

 

It made sense.  If Marinette was Ladybug, and his cookies had led her to figuring out he was Chat Noir, then the awkward avoidance on her end all week made perfect sense.  He knew he felt like his head was imploding at least, and a good part of him wanted nothing more than to run back to his room.  The larger part, though, wanted to know if he was right.  If he had finally found his Lady.  If…

 

God, could he actually be lucky enough that Ladybug would be Marinette?  It was his experience that things typically didn’t work out that way outside of movies – especially in his life.  But if she was…

 

_Stop stalling already and go talk to her!_ Plagg whined in his mind, and he sighed as he shook his head to clear it.  Plagg was right.  He had to know, and lingering on the edge like this wasn’t bringing him any closer to the answers he needed.  A final leap found him crouching outside the circular window three stories above the bakery’s entrance.  He quickly ducked to the side, out of the glow of the light streaming through the open window, when he heard voices coming from inside.

 

“…for the best,” Marinette said.  She sounded close to the window.  “I know you said I couldn’t tell anyone, but…”

 

“But it’s Chat,” a tiny, sweet-sounding voice said.  He peeked around the ledge to see a small, red creature – her kwami, he knew – fly up beside Marinette.  “When I told you that, Marinette, it was mainly concerning civilians.  Most Ladybugs and Chat Noirs have known each other’s identities – it usually makes things easier, and their partnership grows stronger.”

 

“You always supported the decision to keep our identities secret, though,” Marinette said, turning to the kwami.  She flew closer to Marinette, laying a tiny hand on her cheek.

 

“Because you weren’t ready,” the red god said.  “Marinette, look at how bad you reacted when you realized who he was.  Yes, I wanted you both to know, but it had work out in its own time.  When you were both ready.”

 

“I guess I wasn’t, huh?  I still can’t believe it’s Adrien, but…I guess it does make sense.  I feel so stupid, though!  Both for not realizing it sooner and for how I’ve treated him all week,” Marinette sighed as she took a paper off her wall.  His eyes narrowed as he tried see what was on the sheet she had placed on the stack in her arms, and with a jolt he caught a glimpse of himself.  He recalled seeing the posters on her wall when he had delivered her homework.  He had been surprised, to say the least, but he had written it off easily enough: after all, his father was one of her fashion heroes.  He had figured the posters had showcased some favorite designs.  If they had also happened to showcase him, it was only because he was the public face of the Agreste line.

 

Recalling the kiss she had given him earlier, and what Alya had said on Tuesday, he was starting to wonder if maybe the pictures meant something more.  And realizing that, seeing her take the pictures down made a lead weight drop into his stomach.

 

Alya had said she liked him.  She had kissed his cheek and flirted with him in the park.  So, naturally, he had reason to hope that – despite whatever confusion had been thrown into the mix with their secret identities – his Lady actually did like him and they could work through this.  But if she was taking his pictures off her walls…

 

“He’s looked so upset at school…I hate that I caused that,” Marinette’s voice snapped him out of his quickly-spiraling thoughts, and he sucked in a breath as she laid a hand on the top poster.  “And because of something so ridiculous…I really need to make it up to him, Tikki.”

 

Her kwami – Tikki – smiled encouragingly.

 

“Does this mean you’re finally going to talk to him?” she asked, her little hands clasping together hopefully.  Marinette turned to face her, allowing him to better see the confident, determined smile on her face.  It was a look he had seen countless times before, he realized, both on Ladybug and Marinette.

 

“Yes,” she said, nodding.  Her smile warmed as she looked to the posters in her arms.  “I think I can now.  I think…you know, Nino told Alya that Adrien thought I was intimidated by him, and as ridiculous as that sounds I think he might have been right.  In a way, I was.  I was so overwhelmed by my crush on him – by him in general – that I couldn’t really think straight around him for the longest time.  I just…he was so perfect, you know?  And I just knew that, compared to how great he was, plain old Marinette couldn’t hold up.  Who was I kidding, thinking he could ever like someone like me?”

 

He wanted to burst through the window, grab her shoulders, and shake her as he screamed how wrong she was.  How could she think so little of herself?  Didn’t she understand how amazing she was?  Hadn’t he told her countless times already, both with and without the mask?

 

“And now?” Tikki asked, looking down at the posters as well.  Marinette bit her lip, her smile turning wry.

 

“Now…knowing he’s Chat, that he’s the same friend I’ve confided in, the same friend I trust with my life…” she snorted lightly, glancing at Tikki with a grin.  “…the same friend that I’ve tossed halfway across Paris into the Seine _and_ used as a weapon on multiple occasions…”

 

He balked at that, but the two inside shared a giggle at the countless memories her words must have brought to the surface.

 

“It brought him back down to my level, in a way.  Before, he was the perfect Adrien Agreste, who I was madly in love with but was too intimidated by to actually string a coherent thought together around,” Marinette quipped, and his breath hitched as his suspicions were confirmed: she was in love with him.  Marinette – Ladybug! – was in love with him!  “Now, he’s just…he’s Chat.  He’s my perfect partner that I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.”

 

“And you’re still madly in love with?” Tikki giggled, and Marinette laughed as she tapped a finger against the kwami’s nose.  Chat felt his breath hitch as he waited for her answer, because that was the question, wasn’t it?  It was one thing to know she had _had_ a crush on him, that she _had been_ madly in love with him.  But if she had freaked out that badly over finding out who he was…if she was taking the pictures down…

 

“Yes, who I still happen to be madly in love with,” she laughed, and he sighed gratefully as the weight that had been weighing him down seemed to lift.  She still liked him – loved him, by her own admission.  She took another poster off her wall, smiling as she looked at the picture.  “I told you before, Tikki: if not for Adrien, I would have given Chat a chance a long time ago.  I honestly have started to care for him, but I was always so loyal to Adrien I couldn’t imagine betraying my feelings by liking Chat.  Go figure they end up being the same guy.”

 

He smiled sardonically, leaning back against the roof.  Figures, indeed.

 

“I’m still confused, though!” Tikki said, looking at a picture she had grabbed from higher on the wall.  “If you still like him, and you’re happy about all this…why are you taking his pictures down?”

 

Later, when he looked back on that night, he would probably come to regret choosing that moment – that way – to make his presence known.  Teasing, even good-naturedly, was probably not the best option, and it was maybe just a little mean, but comedy was his default defense mechanism and he couldn’t stay silent any longer.  He _had_ to talk to her, and she had just given him the perfect opening, right?  So taking a breath, he rolled away from the roof and leaned into the window, propping his elbows on the sill.  He rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head to the side in the _purr-_ fect picture of innocent curiosity.

 

“Yeah, _Purr_ -incess,” he said, and she squeaked as she spun around, pressing the collected posters close to her chest as she gawked at him with wide eyes.  Well, _squeaked_ was a little generous.  The shriek was just a few notches below an outright scream.  “Why are you taking my pictures down, if you’re _madly in love with me_?”

 

Saying it out loud…reiterating it, confirming it…he smiled for a living, but he honestly thought his face was going to break if he kept it up.  His cheeks were certainly starting to hurt enough.  _His Lady was Marinette, and she was in love with him._   Madly so, by her own words.

 

“O-oh my gosh, you peeping tomcat!” she screeched, dropping the posters as her hands balled into fists.  He blinked, eyes widening in surprise at her reaction.  He had thought she’d be embarrassed, surprised even – not…angry.  She seemed angry.  He leaned back slightly, gulping as she stalked towards him.  He didn’t miss the way her foot solidly landed on one of his faces on the floor.  _Meow-ch_.  “How long have you been there?!”

 

“Long enough to confirm that you are, in fact, Ladybug and that you are, as you said, madly in love with me,” he answered quickly, leaning back and holding up a hand in the universal signal for _hey, chill_.  Her hands came down on the windowsill, and she leaned out the window towards him.  His grip on the sill tightened as he leaned back, his cat-like ears flattening against his head.

 

“Eavesdropping is _rude_ , Chaton,” she said sternly.  He barely had time to process her words before she was smirking at him, and the next thing he knew she had placed a kiss against the tip of his nose.  He gawked at her as she moved away, waving him inside before she started picking up the posters.  “Well?  Aren’t you coming in?  I figure we should probably talk.”

 

He was warier as he slowly climbed into the room.  He lingered by the window, crouched on all fours with his ears still flat and his tail swishing agitatedly behind him, until she shot him a look.  He scurried over to her and began helping with the posters.  He hadn’t really noticed how many of them there were the other day.  The sheer volume was impressive – or creepy.  He was choosing to find it endearing.

 

“You know, last week I would have been mortified if you had seen these,” she said, laughing slightly as he handed her the rest of the posters.  She placed them on her desk and began to fold them before putting them in a box.  His eyebrows raised as he walked over to her.  Tikki waved at him from the top her monitor, where she was munching on one of the red cookies.

 

“Hello, Chat,” the kwami said.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

 

“You eat cookies?” he asked, blinking in surprise.  When she nodded, he sighed.  He glanced at Marinette for a moment before releasing his transformation, and when the glow cleared he shot a look at Plagg.  He missed the bewildered look Marinette gave him, as if she had _known_ he was Chat but still needed a moment to adjust after actually _seeing_ it.  “Why can’t you eat cookies?  I would love to smell like cookies instead of stinky cheese.”

 

“Tikki’s too sweet for her own good,” Plagg quipped before tackling the other kwami.  She laughed as she dropped her cookie, but she didn’t seem to mind as she returned Plagg’s hug.  “Tikki!”

 

“You just saw me this afternoon, Plagg!” Tikki laughed, but Plagg only winked at her as his tail swished.

 

“Yeah, but these two morons finally figured it out, so I can see you without sneaking now,” he said.

 

“Wait – sneaking?” Marinette asked, her hands going to her hips as she glared at the black cat god.  Plagg grinned at her.  “You mean you’ve known this whole time?”

 

“Well, duh,” Plagg sneered.  “We did choose you dummies, after all.”

 

“I told you, Marinette: it was best if you learned the truth on your own,” Tikki said.  She at least looked more remorseful than Plagg.

 

“Plus, it was fun watching you suffer,” Plagg added with a grin, and Adrien groaned as he slapped a hand against his forehead.

 

“I’m so sorry about him,” he sighed, but to his amazement Marinette only giggled.  He watched, astounded, as she reached out and scratched Plagg between the ears.  The little cat seemed to love it.

 

“Tikki warned me,” she said.  She stood and faced him, a smile on her face.  “So.”

 

“So,” he echoed, and he hoped his smile wasn’t as goofy as he feared it was.  It certainly felt like it was just the goofy side of mushy.  He reached out and caught her fingers in his own, and he marveled at how they felt.  It occurred to him that, for all the times he’d held her hand before behind the masks, he hadn’t really done so as Adrien.  It was nice to not have their gloves in the way.  “You’re Ladybug.”

 

“And you’re Chat Noir,” she said.  He nodded, and she grinned at him.  “Saving me from terrifying monsters.  _Rawr!_ ”

 

He snorted, but she was laughing again – and he found he really liked her laugh.  He had thought so before, but suddenly it was so much better.  Or maybe that was the way she had launched herself at him, or how her arms were now wrapped around his neck and her face was nestled against him as she hugged him.  Yeah, it was definitely the hug.

 

“I’m sorry for freaking out all week,” she mumbled against his chest, and all he could do was sigh as he wrapped his arms around her back and held her closer.  He liked this.  He could get used to it, he thought.  “But, for what it’s worth…I’m really glad it’s you.”

 

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely audible to his own ears.  She hummed and squeezed him tight.

 

“Yeah,” she said.  She pulled back and smiled at him, a hand coming up to rest on his cheek.  “We should talk.  And it’s probably going to be a long one, so…”

 

That mischievous grin was back, and Adrien was struck by the feeling that the girl in his arms was perfect.  He also had the sinking feeling that he was going to have his work cut out for him, but he didn’t mind.  She was Ladybug, and Marinette was every bit as bold and spunky as her masked alter-ego – he had seen it with everyone but him, and now it seemed she was finally comfortable enough around him to let him see it, as well.  The thought was only confirmed as she nodded towards her door and asked, “…I’m thinking snacks would be good.  What are your thoughts on cookies?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake/Deleted Scene: The Posters
> 
> Much later, after too many cookies and three mugs of hot chocolate each, they were curled up on Marinette’s chaise binging some anime on YouTube. They had discussed the important things, but they both figured there would be time later for talking. In that moment, they just wanted to relax and bask in the fact that their masked partner was exactly who they had hoped it’d be. They had lapsed into a comfortable silence when a thought occurred to Adrien.
> 
> “Hey, Mari,” he whispered, nudging her a little. She looked up from her phone, where he saw she was ignoring another frantic text from Alya. “You never did answer…why did you take the posters down?”
> 
> “Oh,” she said, as if it should be obvious. She dug around in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive. “I asked Vincent for copies from the shoot. I figured…well, I’d hoped you’d start coming around more, and I thought it might be weird to see all those posters of you.”
> 
> “Well, maybe,” he agreed, nodding. He smirked at the thumb drive, amazed at how quickly Vincent had gotten the photos to her.
> 
> “Plus…I was kinda hoping I’d have new pictures, like these,” she said, waving the thumb drive again. His smile grew, pleased at her words and the light blush that was dusting her cheeks. “I mean…real pictures. Of us. Not in a magazine.”
> 
> “I think that can be arranged,” he grinned, pulling her close. She laughed and squirmed, but his eyes widened as he nudged her again, bringing her attention back the episode they’d been watching. “Oh, oh – shhhh! I love this part!”


	10. Epilogue: In Which Debts are Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after adding the ‘sequel’ to the main fic, it seemed it needed just a bit more – plus, including pro/epilogue, chapter total is now ten, which is a nice, rounded count. Thanks for sticking with me this long. I’m so glad y’all have enjoyed this romp as much as I did – y’all are the best!
> 
> Also: I am so, so very sorry about the late update and the delayed replies to comments. The past week has been…trying, to say the least. But today is Easter Sunday, a new week, and the tomb is still empty. He is risen!

Alya was not having a very good day – or, rather, week.  Which, really, was just not fair.  The previous week had been amazing, so she didn’t really understand why the current week couldn’t just pull its act together and follow suit.

 

It was all Marinette’s fault.  Her girl had been making such great progress in the Adrien department, and then BAM!  For whatever reason, she had started freaking out like it was Adrien’s first day of school all over again.

 

She remembered that day all too well – it was also the first day she had met Marinette, after all.  And the day Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared in Paris.  Really, it had been a monumental day on all fronts, but that was beside the point.  Once they had gotten that pesky gum incident out of the way, Marinette had fallen _hard_ for Adrien.  She had been amused by it at first, but as time passed and Marinette failed to get over her crush – when it seemed to only get worse – she had started to pay more attention.  And she had noticed that maybe the teen heartthrob would be perfect for her best friend.  Maybe he actually liked her back.  Maybe they just needed a little bit of helping getting their heads out of their rears so they could realize how perfect they’d be together.

 

So when Mademoiselle Bustier had assigned the speech, and Marinette had made the cookies, Alya had seen her opportunity and dove on it – and it had worked!  Or at least it had seemed to work, until Adrien did his speech and seemed to ruin everything!

 

…ok.  That was a little harsh.  Marinette had been acting weird before Adrien’s speech, but Alya wasn’t the biggest pun fan and his speech was kinda Horrible.

 

She sighed and pulled her glasses off, rubbing her forehead as she tried to figure out where everything had gone wrong.  It seemed to happen overnight.  One minute, Adrien was baking Marinette cookies and they were happily headed to the altar.  The next Marinette couldn’t stop giving him the Creeper Stare and refused to even talk to him.

 

“You know, technically this is cheating and you still owe me a cinnamon roll,” her boyfriend’s voice brought her out of her musings, and she raised an eyebrow at him before replacing her glasses.

 

“Come again?” she asked as he took another large bite of the cinnamon roll she had brought him that morning.  He grinned at her and waved the pastry.

 

“You said you’d buy me two coffees and a cinnamon roll,” he said, “and your mom made these this morning.  So technically you didn’t _buy_ me anything – so, technically, you still owe me a cinnamon roll.”

 

“And, technically, I only owed you all that if our sunshine child actually managed to kill both of you – which he didn’t,” she pointed out.  “So, technically, I owe you nothing and the boon was purely out of the goodness of my heart.  You’re welcome.”

 

“Wait, no,” Nino said, shaking his head as he waved the cinnamon roll at her.  “Adrien still started a fire.  We still almost died.  It was still a disaster.  All the important criteria was met, so you would still owe me two coffees, a cinnamon roll, and a tumbler.  I think it should have a black cat on it, to match the ladybug one I had to replace for you.  Which brings me back to my point: your mom made these this morning, so technically you still owe me a cinnamon roll.”

 

“Oh my God, Nino,” she groaned, shoving her hands in her hair and tugging.  “Our future frouple is in danger, and all you can think about is your stomach!”

 

Nino’s eyebrows had soared so high they practically disappeared under his hat.

 

“Babe,” he said, swallowing the food in his mouth, “it’s not that serious.”

 

“It’s totally serious!  Marinette won’t even be around him, let alone talk to him!  I don’t even know what happened, but the future of Adrienette is at stake, and I won’t sit back and let my ship sink, Nino!” she cried.  He laughed as he sipped his coffee.

 

“Seriously, babe,” he laughed, “they’re fine.”

 

“No, Nino, they’re not!  How can you be so chill about this?!” she shrieked, and he shrugged as he nodded to the street.

 

“I mean, they look fine to me,” he said, taking another bite of his cinnamon roll before he gestured to the car that had just parked in front of the school.  Alya straightened, her eyes narrowing as Adrien exited the car and waved as the Gorilla and Nathalie drove off.  Her stare turned into a squint as Adrien looked around once the car had disappeared and ran across the street.  Her eyes snapped open when she saw him greet Marinette at the entrance to the bakery with a hug.  Her jaw dropped when he pulled back and took her hand.  Her hand flew out, pointing accusingly, and she screeched when _he leaned back in and kissed her_.

 

“Told ya they were fine,” she heard Nino comment beside her, and he sounded entirely too smug for her comfort.  Almost like Adrien had actually clued him in on Whatever Happened over the weekend (in which case all three of them were dead, since Marinette had been dodging her texts and calls since _Saturday_ ).  She was only slightly mollified by the way the couple in question – and when had that freakin’ happened, them being a couple?! – apparently heard her and leapt apart, startled and blushing faces looking her way.

 

“GIRL!” she screamed.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream or laugh.  Dancing was a definite possibility.  Marinette grinned slightly, biting her lip as she raised a hand to wave.  Adrien, bless him, looked guilty as he waved his free hand, too.  Neither seemed willing to let the other’s hand go, she was delighted to notice.

 

In retrospect, it wasn’t that Alya wasn’t having a good day.

 

She was having the _best freakin’ day ever_.


End file.
